HR 5a Logicators of High Reaches
by slytherinsal
Summary: 3-09-2522 to month 1 2522; a braided novel involving T'lana and friends as more people realise that the people of High Reaches are pretty good at solving mysteries. Rated for some of the reasons for committing crimes...
1. Chapter 1

_A/N I'm sorry I can't include the plan of the Holder's quarters in this document. If anyone knows a way to embed a pic, please let me know; if you want the plan, pm me and let me have an address I can send it to. It should be straightforward enough for you to sketch out from the description I hope however_.

**1: Sharper Than the Thorn**

T'lana regarded the nascent day with disfavour.

T'lana was not exactly bored. After all, even when Thread froze from the sky as blackdust, crackdust, there were plenty of jobs for a junior weyrwomen. Especially when those duties involved several lively children. Lanelly fostered T'lana's three offspring and her own grandson Marag, Sagarra's half brother; but T'lana enjoyed spending time with them, and her other fosterling Serelis. Serelis was the same age as T'lana's first fosterling, Sagarra, the daughter of the little red-haired Weyrwoman's beloved weyrmate, R'gar. Sagarra was currently fostered with her dear friend Amrys at Rivenhill Hold: and T'lana was hoping to have the little girl back soon, once Amrys and her mother were settled in. Rillys now had an able man about the place in the person of the dragonless man Corbin; and doubtless Amrys would soon have other siblings! It would be nice to have Sagarra about the place again, T'lana reflected wistfully; she livened things up. And she would be good company for serious little Serelis, too old for her years after the accident in her father's mill had robbed her of her foot and much of her childhood in one fell swoop. And too, it would be good for Marag to get to know his half sister better. At six turns he was asking difficult to answer questions about his parentage; and T'lana had answered as fully as she could without emphasising that his mother had abandoned him. But although Lanelly was a blood relation of his, Sagarra would be one he could, in some ways, relate to better.

As to the other children, there were no problems with T'lana's almost three turn old twins. Rogan and Rofel were a pair of pure mischief, chattering away to each other in 'twin' and needed constant watching! T'lana adored them unreservedly, as she did her daughter Felgarra, less than a turn their junior, now tagging along behind her brothers in a sturdy and determined way!

T'lana sighed; and it was half a happy sigh, half frustrated. She had enjoyed being able to stretch her brain over a number of puzzles but the last few winter months ranged from the tedious to the tragic, even the high points being emotional rather than intellectual. Sh'rilla's fosterling Deela had died; and within days the girl had birthed her first child, little Shadeel. D're's family had been helped out, and his sister Kaili's twins by rape fostered by L'rilly. L'rilly was plainly not well and refusing to talk about it. Y'lara of all people had been ill, and M'gol and J'nara had finally decided to weyr together after his foray into the outside world. And there had been a hatching. All very eventful and momentous. And as a rock behind it all, her own beloved R'gar, ever a comfort.

Yet T'lana craved something more!

The young Queenrider had to admit that the weather at the back end of winter did little to inspire her or to improve her mood; especially in the grey dawn after bathing, it having been too late to seek again the sleeping furs when the temperature had risen enough for a predawn Thread scare over Tillek. And so T'lana regarded the nascent day with disfavour.

Cold grey fingers of freezing fog insinuated themselves between the seven spindles and spilled down into the bowl. They crept inexorably, roiling and writhing like outsize Threads, flowing into the bowl and filling it.

T'lana gazed down as below her weyr gradually filled with cloud, looking so soft until it rose high enough for the clammy touch to repel. T'lana hated fog. She had always hated fog, having to go out and check the runnerbeasts in for her foster father, never sure of her direction in the damp, impenetrable grey. And fog concealed Thread. Rain could destroy Thread, but fog was not wet enough. Just wet enough to soak and chill you to the bone.

"_Then come in out of it"_ suggested Mirrith, practically.

"_**I'm going to, dear one"**_ T'lana could not say why she had to watch the fog roll in. It was something of the same reason she watched Thread if for some reason she was not flying. The horrid tingle up her spine was somehow necessary.

The arrival of a weyrling's blue with a passenger, brightly clad; the arrival ghosting past and dipping into the fog below roused T'lana from her lethargy.

"A visitor at this early hour?" she murmured. "Must be important. I'd better go check it out!"

"Nosy" commented R'gar.

T'lana grinned and thumbed her nose at him in time-honoured fashion; and set off at her usual breakneck speed down the long stairs that led from Laranth's weyr that he shared with Mirrith. She was joined at the bottom by young Serelis, who grinned at her.

"Something happening, T'lana?"

"Don't know, sweetheart. I'm going to find out."

Serelis smiled seraphically.

"I'll come too" she said.

She could get along almost as fast as any other child with the wooden foot that Weyrwoodcrafter H'llon had carved for her; and the limp was scarcely noticeable as she strove to keep up with T'lana's hasty tread.

_"Orth bespeaks"_ Mirrith told her rider. _"The Weyrleader wants you. I said you were already going. I need a nap."_

_ "__**Then have one ,dear one"**_ replied T'lana equably, used to her beloved Mirrith's habit of pretending to be hard done by.

T'lana met B'lova in the bowl.

"What's going on?" asked the younger girl. "I had a message via Linith that my mother is here."

"Your mother? That's more than Orth told Mirrith. Let's hope it's not bad news" T'lana linked arms with the Ranking Green Rider in support. She had grown surprisingly fond of the girl who had begun her career at High Reaches as such a troublemaker!

Lady Bellanda looked distraught: a sufficiently unusual occurrence to immediately concern both young weyrwomen. True, she had a tendency towards hysteria where her beloved daughter was concerned, but T'lana had never seen the Ranking woman less than elegantly turned out. This morning her hair was still in a single plait for sleeping; and her skirt did not match her bodice.

"Mother?" B'lova went to her and took her hands affectionately, her worry writ upon her pretty face. Lady Bellanda hugged her daughter absently: and the girls exchanged a look. T'lana tried to give a reassuring smile, for such a lack of effusion was so uncharacteristic that B'lova looked truly taken aback!

T'bor glanced towards the doorway.

"Scram, Serelis" he said, though his tone was not unkindly.

The little girl pulled a rueful face; but duly scrammed. Just as far as the hatching cavern, currently unoccupied, where sometimes echoes made it possible to eavesdrop!

This time she was out of luck; even inside the caverns, the heavy atmosphere engendered by the fog deadened all noise. Serelis sniffed; and headed for the kitchens instead for the solace of bubbly pies from Keerana!

"What is the problem, Lady Bellanda?" T'lana asked politely.

"Oh dear, Marlov is so upset" Bellanda picked nervously at her rank knots. "Belle, I have to tell you, I'm so sorry, that your cousin Andery is – is dead!"

An expression of relief swept B'lova's face.

"Oh! Is THAT all!" she said with more honesty than tact. "Well, he's not exactly a great loss, is he?" she added prosaically. "What happened – he brained himself on the headboard getting too quickly out of another man's wife – uh, bed?"

"Belle! I mean, B'lova! Watch your tongue!" admonished her mother.

B'lova shrugged and grinned sheepishly.

"Well his philandering wasn't exactly a secret, mother. He tried to corner me in the barn once. HOW I slapped his face" she said, meditatively, savouring the memory. "I never could figure out what those silly women saw in him. Besides, he was quite old."

"He's just Turned thirty five" said her mother waspishly. "And he's not just dead, he's been murdered. And – and one of our other relations has to have done it."

T'lana's eyes gleamed with sudden interest.

"Come now, that sounds most stim….er, difficult" she said. "B'lova, get your mother klah; and for the Weyrleader and me, please, dear one. Lady Bellanda, tell me all about it."

B'lova's look showed what she thought of being strategically got rid of; and T'lana pushed out her mind-voice.

_**"Be reasonable, dear one. You WILL keep interrupting, and whilst she's reproving you we're getting no further. Besides, she's less likely to prevaricate if she doesn't feel a need to spare her innocent darling any gory details. I'll stay with you and you can ride along and listen through me"**_

B'lova was relatively content with that: she stood in great awe of her friend's gift, and felt that to share it was a privilege!

Bellanda began;

"Marlov had hoped that Bellova – as she was – might marry a cousin of some kind to secure the succession to Riverbend Hold, she being our only child. We were never blessed with any other offspring" she said sadly, and T'lana nodded sympathetically, understanding why the woman had made so much fuss over her one precious child. Bellanda went on, "Now she's Impressed my husband thought to invite all his relatives along with a view to choosing an heir, to save trouble later. They all live in part of the Hold, but it is scattered amongst several separate caverns in the rivercliffs, and across several extended cotholds. So we see little of them on a daily basis; Marlov wanted to examine them close to."

"Highly commendable!" put in T'bor. He was relieved that T'lana seemed more than equal to handling Bellanda: all she had gasped to him was that there had been a murder and she wanted that nice little Weyrwomen with red hair to sort it out, for T'lana's fame had gone before her in addition to Bellanda's gratitude over the little weyrwoman's kindness to B'lova!

"Commendable indeed" said T'lana. "Nobody needs succession squabbles. So who exactly was there and why do you suspect them only?"

"I – I'll outline who everyone is first, if I may, Weyrwoman" said Bellanda. "To give you some idea of the people….I'm not sure how objective I can be, but I'll do my best" she said. "First, my husband's brother Marlin; he's married to Gwesela and they have twins, a boy and a girl, Margwes and Gwessina. They're fifteen turns. Though I really cannot see any of them having anything to do with a killing" she shook her head.

"Outraged father, teen-aged daughter?" suggested T'lana. Bellanda looked horrified.

"No – oh no! if anyone offended Gwessina, Marlin would deal with him face to face. And besides, SHE'd have slapped his face. Gwessina's not backward about coming forward, actually she's a bit too feisty in my opinion. She wants to remain unwed and come to try for a green dragon like her cousin. In fact she asked me to ask through B'lova" she finished.

T'lana made a non-committal noise and waved for Bellanda to continue. Someone who was too feisty for Bellanda sounded suspiciously volatile. However, that would remain to be seen. The Ranking woman went on,

"Apart from Andery, who was Marlov's sister-son, the rest were sons of Marlov's uncle, his cousins. The oldest of them is Arfan. He's married to Mavelly, and their sons are Arvel and Maven. Arvel's a couple of turns younger than B'lova and at one time we had hopes…." She tailed off.

**"That callow youth?"** B'lova thought disgustedly

**"It's been a while since you saw him, I guess. He might have improved"** T'lana's return thought soothed.

**"I suppose…he's got a good sense of humour, but it always used to lapse into the puerile…"**

Bellanda was saying,

"Arfan is a Harper. He has a cot on the estate, and teaches all the children, in Hold and in cot. I confess I don't like him nor that insolent bovine he's married to."

T'lana flicked an interrogative eyebrow and Bellanda flushed.

"Arfan is the sort who suffers. Not just from his health but from the supposed stupidity of the children of the Hold. He gets on my nerves with his constant whining. And Mavelly always has a smart answer. She's the daughter of some Harper he met at the Harper Hall."

**"Aunt Mavelly's too strong minded, too much like mummy for them to get on"** remarked B'lova's mind. **"She doesn't give a toss for anyone and says what she thinks. Actually, on second thoughts she's more like Pilgra, because nothing upsets her or gets her in a flap. Even when Arvel shot himself in the foot with a hunting crossbow she only told him to try not to bleed where it wasn't easy to clean while she took the bolt out"** she added thoughtfully.

**"And the younger boy – Maven?"** T'lana could not prevent herself thinking the question.

She almost heard B'lova snort.

**"He's as big a hypochondriac as his father!"** she was dismissive.

Bellanda, blissfully unaware of her daughter's mental asides, went on.

"Next down in age of the cousins is Sirrer. He's in his late thirties. His wife, Aswenne, is a good bit younger, not yet thirty; but she's let herself go to seed a bit since their daughter Siriwenne was born. The child is only seven turns. Strange little girl, very self contained. I've never seen her hug either of her parents and goodness knows there's enough of Aswenne to hug" she gave a slightly spiteful titter "She's rather too fond of her food to keep a good figure, but she flaunts what she has, the vulgar piece! And Sirrer gets so angry about it. Still, even so, I don't see that it's cause to knock her about the way he does." She came up for air as T'lana reflected grimly that men who beat their wives generally beat their children too; and that the little girl sounded as though she was starved of affection. Bellanda continued, "The youngest cousin is Sirlin. He's pretty quiet. We had him pegged for an eternal bachelor, we were all so surprised when he married Fenicia. She's hardly any older than B'lova! We only first got the news of his nuptials right before my baby Impressed, and I think Marlov's still adjusting to it! Still, she seems a pleasant girl, quite cheerful and willing. Can't see what she sees in Sirlin, but there you are."

"In short, my lady, you're not that fond of any of your husband's relations" said T'lana dryly.

Bellanda gave a short, dry laugh.

"No, I suppose not. Marlin is about the best of them, and his wife may be Pern's worst manager but she does love him and the children I suppose. The rest? No, I don't like most of them. But they are kin, and knowing that no-one else could have killed Andery is a shock."

"You are certain? No retainers or anyone else from outside could have done it?"

Bellanda shook her head.

"Our steward is a very old man; he'd never overpower Andery. His wife is our ccok-headwoman. She's too old even for that little…too old even for Andery's tastes. The family living quarters close off from the rest of the Hold by a big door, which creaks. It is inconceivable that no-one would have heard it open and close twice, for someone to slip in and then leave. I sleep like the dead, but I always wake if something like a creaking door or banging shutter signals that all is not well."

**"She does too. It used to make philandering very difficult"** put in B'lova with feeling. T'lana nodded in reply to the girl's mother; she could well believe that Bellanda was attuned to every untoward creak of her own Hold!

"Has the body been moved at all?" T'lana asked. Bellanda shook her head.

"Marlov remembered that Lord Bargen had told him that you can find things out by looking at a body. So he just put a blanket over it for decency" she said. T'lana nodded, gratified.

"Then, Lady Bellanda, if you will let me just put together some things, I shall come at once" she said. "Perhaps if J'nara will look after Linith for a little while, the Weyrleader will permit B'lova to come home on a visit as a helpmate to you?"

T'bor nodded obediently.

**"Great! I bet I can help loads!"** enthused B'lova; then turned her mind to reassuring her little Green dragon of her rapid return!

oOoOo

Mirrith went neatly _Between_ back in time to the just post-dawn Riverbend Hold, to give T'lana as much chance as possible of finding out what she could from the body of the unfortunate Andery. Indeed, Holder Marlov had not even gone back inside from seeing his wife off; and he blinked in surprise as Mirrith backwinged neatly onto the square that lay in the river loop that gave the Hold its name.

"That was quick, Weyrwoman" he said mildly as T'lana and her passengers strode over to him.

"Oh daddy! We were Timing it, of course!" B'lova explained.

"Ahh…hmm" said the Holder. "It's so good of you to come, Weyrwoman T'lana."

"Not at all" said T'lana brightly. "B'lova is High Reaches people now, so that almost makes you family. Now, can I see your body as soon as possible, please?"

B'lova giggled.

"That could be misconstrued" she gurgled.

"Impudent weyrling brat" said T'lana lazily, wagging a finger at the girl. B'lova grinned unrepentantly.

"Lead on, daddy" she sobered up. "T'lana can tell lots from a body."

The Holder nodded.

"So I hear. It's in his room – I locked the door."

"How many people have already been in there and seen the body?" asked T'lana.

"Only myself. I had got up to use the Necessary – I find I have to do so these days – and his door was open and the glows uncovered. I looked round the door in case Andery were ill – and because I was half afraid he'd been seducing one of my cousins' wives, or persuaded one of the kitchen girls to stay. I intended to give him a lecture if he had. And there he was, wallowing in his gore as the Harpers would put it. Spoiled a perfectly good Benden patchwork quilt" he added indignantly.

"Soak it in salt water" recommended T'lana "Your good lady will know."

Bellanda nodded sagely. Marlov looked worried.

"But will anyone sleep under it knowing someone was murdered on it?" he asked.

"Don't tell 'em" said T'lana. She reflected, not for the first time, how strange it was that in times of stress people should often fixate on relative trivialities!

Marlov unlocked the door of the young man's room and hesitated.

"I don't think my wife and daughter should…." He tailed off. "I'm not sure I should ask you…."

T'lana gently, but firmly pushed the door and moved past him.

"Take Lady Bellanda back to your rooms. She's been very brave. This is a job for Weyrwomen. B'lova and I are more than equal to it" she told him firmly; forbearing to point out that in due course it would be Bellanda's duty to lay out the body as fell to the most senior woman of any community as a final duty to the deceased.

The two girls walked into the room; and T'lana drew back the blanket hastily thrown over the mound on the bed. B'lova gulped hard. T'lana's eyebrows went up and she compressed her lips firmly. Wallowing in gore was no exaggeration. Andery's throat had been slashed clean across and blood had spattered everywhere. All over the walls, the quilt, even on the low ceiling.

T'lana examine the young man's hands. They were unmarked by ligature marks; but his wrists were discoloured by bruising. There were no cuts on the hands and there appeared to be nothing under the nails.

"He was asleep" she commented "Or maybe tied: though I see no cord marks. Look at the ferocity of the blow – it's a backhand stroke, left to right, and it's carried blood and spotted it all against the wall right up to the ceiling where blood flew off the knife while it was still travelling after it left his flesh. Somebody must have knelt across him to do that. Why didn't he wake?"

"Drugged?" suggested B'lova.

"Possibly…or maybe he was taken by surprise" she sniffed his mouth. "The stench of blood masks any fellis, for it need not be a strong dose to make him sluggish…."

"It must be a little difficult to take a man by surprise if someone kneels over him with a knife" opined B'lova.

"Mmm. There are bruises on his wrists….they're quite round, I wonder if he was held down by someone's knees?"

"Shouldn't he have struggled more?"

"What if it were presented as a game? A sex game?" suggested T'lana. "Especially if he were fellised enough to be sluggish of thought…"

"A woman?"

"If anyone came to him clad, their clothes would be covered in blood. Now, I'm going to do a search of all clothes; and we're going straight away to check the kitchen hearth for burned fibres in case anyone burned what they were wearing, not realising how much blood he had in him….but my mind is saying 'naked'. And the only thing that would not alert him would be a naked woman, even if his reflexes were slowed by drugs. I think he was drugged lightly. Let's just check how long he's been dead…." She felt the jaw. "It's well developed here, but not much further down. Enough I think to say that he probably died before midnight. All right, hearth first; then if your father will assemble everyone we'll search all the presses and then start the questioning."

Locking the door and taking the key, T'lana went into the kitchens. An elderly couple were there, wearing the knots of senior staff, the figure of eight intertwined in a circle in the double strand with Riverbend's colours of dark blue and light blue twisted for one strand, the silver grey denoting a minor hold for the other. Tassels on each showed their status as important senior staff, steward and headwoman. They looked scared. Holder Marlov was there too, speaking soothingly, assuring them that nobody would accuse them just because they were the only non family members. A good man, thought T'lana, looking every inch the Holder, too, well turned out, a good strong frame and his blonde hair neatly pushed back behind his ears. She smiled reassuringly at the steward and his wife.

"Holder Marlov, please ask the other staff not to report to work here just yet" she said. "And ask all your relatives to get up and assemble in the dining area. Perhaps klah and rolls all round could be organised?" she smiled at the headwoman "I hear your fresh sweet yeast rolls are something to remember!"

The headwoman looked pleased at the compliment and sketched a curtsey. She started bustling, glad of something to do. T'lana approached the big fire hole by the ovens and carefully raked out the ashes, gingerly for the fire never went out in inclement weather. She picked them over with the shovel.

"No. Nothing but the ashes of blackrock and firewood" she said to B'lova.

"What else would you find, My Lady?" asked the old woman.

"I wanted to see if anyone has burned clothing" said T'lana.

"Oh no, My Lady, not to my knowledge."

T'lana smiled and nodded, and did not mention that anyone burning such guilty clothing was unlikely to be doing it with anyone's knowledge! She waved to B'lova to show her around. They started in Marlov and Bellanda's room to give the others time to rise and move to the dining area; and did not neglect B'lova's old room lest it be used as a hiding place!

oOoOo

The only blood the weyrwomen found was in the room of Sirlin and his new bride Fenicia: and as it was associated with certain extra underlinen, T'lana sniffed and drew her own conclusions. The bloody state of the bedlinen suggested that Sirlin was not as particular as some men could be; and Fenicia presumably did not suffer the pains some women did, nor did she pretend so to do. Unless her husband did not care.

"Either Sirlin's a cruel and selfish man or it's a genuine love match" T'lana commented; and then explained her reasoning to the puzzled B'lova. "If it's a love match, she's happy to lay with him during her times, and then her only motives would be to avoid hurt to her husband if Andery had, as you might say, known her first and threatened to talk. But I reckon there'd have been blood on his belly, smeared blood, if it had been her."

After searching all the rooms, T'lana and B'lova went into the common caverns of the Hold to talk to the drudges who came in to the family part to help cook and clean, and to find out if anyone else might have grudge against Andery or had heard gossip.

The drudges consisted of three men, one of them distinctly lacking, and as many women. One of these was a toothless old crone, another scarcely pubescent and the third a silly chit who giggled and blushed all the time and made it clear she would be glad of Andery's advances. T'lana managed to collect a group about her discussing Andery and came to the conclusion that most of the younger women considered him attractive and most of the men felt him to be a dangerous womaniser. At least three started a celebration on hearing of his death and one declared whoever had done it deserved a vat of beer and a life's supply of bubbly pies! There were no end of motives here – one man doubted the paternity of his son; another was raising a granddaughter whose mother died birthing her bastard; another had a daughter who had diminished her chance of marriage even though she had been lucky enough not to fall pregnant. It went on. But the door creaked: and having come through it T'lana doubted that anyone could sleep through such a prolonged and arthritic creak, even a drunken dragonrider sleeping off dragonlust!

T'lana returned thoughtfully to the dining cavern of the rambling family quarters. This part was built back into the river cliffs and was lit by glows; T'lana found it oppressive and almost claustrophobic having lived all her life with at least a window to the outside. The artificial light showed various anxious expressions; Holder Marlov had evidently apprised all his relatives of the circumstances. Four people, a couple and a boy and a girl in their teens wore the complex double figure of eight knot of members of the main line; the rest wore the simpler, though still fairly convoluted knot of a cadet branch of the Holder's family. They would be Marlov's cousins.

"Good morning" said T'lana evenly "Which is rather an inadequate greeting under the circumstances I'm afraid. I expect that Holder Marlov has explained that I'm quite good at solving mysteries: and that I'm going to ask each of you in turn what may sound like impertinent questions. Please be aware that they are germane to the situation; and that I shall not pass on anything that proves embarrassing. Only the killer need be afraid of honesty, and indeed not even the killer if there are sufficient extenuating circumstances. I know none of you: you need never see me again once this is over. You can be quite open. Is that clear?"

"Like a mountain spring, love" said a handsome, woman, approaching middle age. "Impertinent questions are fine; I do impertinent questions myself."

"Thank you – Mavelly, is it?" guessed T'lana, the woman tallying to the description Bellanda had given. Mavelly raised her mug of klah in a semi mocking toast.

"I'd like to see you again after this" said the girl of the two teenagers with main line knots. "I'd like to come to the Weyr as a candidate!" she had golden curls and an excited, breathy and rather little girl voice.

"Gwessina I presume. That we shall see about – but not now" said T'lana firmly. "Though if I may say so, in the light of the rapid maturation of Green dragons you may wish to wait a turn or two."

"What has that – oh!" the girl's cheeks burned. T'lana exchanged a speaking look with the woman beside her, a motherly looking body; and understanding was reached through eye contact alone.

T'lana disengaged her attentions from the Holder's brother's family and swept a gaze about the room.

"I will begin with Holder Marlov's brother if I may" she said "Followed by his wife and offspring. I will then follow with each of the Holder's cousins and their families in birth order of the cousins. The order I see each family will depend" she nodded to Marlov and Bellanda. "In your study, if I may?"

Marlov nodded, and led her into his own sanctum. It was a pleasant room, wood panelling to the room over the stone giving it a pleasing warmth. Stone so often seemed to absorb the heat of even the hottest fire, but here a small fire crackled cheerily in a big grate and put out ample warmth to warm the room A big desk sat beside a wooden scroll store stretching from floor to ceiling, each span-width compartment filled with a big record scroll. T'lana nodded to a stool.

"Blova, sit there by the fire and make notes on the sheaf of leaves there. It doesn't matter what you write, but if people think we have paper just to write down everything they say, that'll keep them off balance and more likely to betray any secrets."

"That's unfair."

"So's cutting a man's throat without giving him a chance to defend himself. Maybe he did something to deserve it; and we need to find that out so your father can pass judgement accordingly and fairly. Start by making a sketch of this area and writing in who sleeps where."

Marlin entered the room; and T'lana indicated the chair she had placed across the desk from her. He glanced at B'lova where she sat on the low stool.

"What is my niece up to?" he asked curiously.

"Taking notes" said T'lana.

"Notes? You have parchment – no, paper! To waste? Fascinating!" he said. "Do you by chance have any for sale? I'd be willing to buy…"

"You'd have to ask our Weyrwoodcrafter" said T'lana. "Now if you don't mind, if we can get on…."

"Of course, I'm sorry. How can I help you Weyrwoman?" he asked courteously.

"Tell me your actions last night" T'lana said.

"Last night?"

"During the night would perhaps have been better" she amended.

"Throughout? Well…my wife and I went to bed….we spoke for a while. We discussed Andery, actually. I felt his behaviour was unacceptable, trying to fascinate Sirlin's new wife, not to mention turning on the charm to both Aswenne and even our little Gwessi."

"What did your wife say?"

"Well, she was of the opinion that any woman who let herself be charmed as a fool. She said our Gwessi hadn't even noticed" he paused "I'm bound to say I think she was probably right!" he went on, "And then we went to sleep. In the morning there was obviously something going on, but I heard nothing during the night."

"Very well. If you think of anything, no matter how trivial, let me know. Perhaps you will send your wife in now?"

Marlin nodded.

"Is that all?" he asked.

"Certainly for the time being, yes" said T'lana.

Gwesela smiled brightly at T'lana.

"It's a good job it only happened last night during the night!" she said cheerfully. "My memory's so bad, I reckon I'd not otherwise remember much, one day being much like another!"

"What did you do last night? Starting with goint to bed?" asked T'lana.

"Ah, I remember that. Marlin was holding forth about Andery's behaviour. I hear he has three illegitimate children in the lower caverns, though whether that's just the main part here or counts his parents' cavern as well or if he has more in his own section I don't know. But that gives at least three good reasons to kill him, doesn't it? I mean on the part of their husbands or fathers….but unfortunately we're closed off" she added mournfully "So it has to be one of us. But someone went to see him in the night."

"They did? When?"

Gwesela frowned.

"I couldn't say exactly. Marlin had covered the glows, and I had been busy dropping off to sleep when he started to snore. He always does, you know, in a a strange bed" she explained. "So I had to wake him up to prod him, so he'd turn over. And before I quite dropped off again I heard stealthy footsteps go past the door in the direction of Andery's room – it being next to ours. The Necessary is the other way from our room so I thought – if I thought it coherently – that one of those silly women had succumbed to his charms. So sad if so; but if Sirlin wants to keep his pretty wife he'd do well to be less dour, and of course poor Aswenne has no charms but is desperate for some affection. But I suppose it might have been the killer, mightn't it?"

"It might indeed" agreed T'lana gravely.

"Of course, I might have dreamed it all" added Gwesela brightly and unhelpfully. "I was in a strange bed too and other people's home's noises make unaccustomed noises, don't they?"

"True. And his philandering was on your mind; but it is more than likely that you did here something." Said T'lana.

"Philandering – good word. PhilAndery if you ask me!" Gwesela laughed at her own pun.

"Send in one or both of your children next" asked T'lana, reflecting that she for one was not about to grieve for the dead man!

Gwessina and Margwes came in together.

"I suppose both of you slept like tops and didn't stir?" T'lana asked cynically. Gwessina prodded her brother meaningfully.

"Er…." Said Margwes "Promise you won't tell father?"

"It's not my place to tell your father anything" said T'lana. "Though I might take it upon myself to mention any thoughts I have on anything you've been up to."

He grinned and pushed a lock of his unruly golden hair out of his eyes.

"Well, it's like this. Arvel knows this really nice girl, very obliging and not too expensive" he reddened "Who he promised to introduce me to. So we weren't in the boy's dorm, we stuffed bolsters down the bed and we threatened to beat up Maven if he told. That sounds bad but he's an awful little sneak you know."

"By the First Egg! You Holderfolk certainly do go in for bed hopping in a big way!" exclaimed T'lana. "I'm glad I live in a Weyr; it's much less stressful to have a simple sex life!"

"But – what you said about Green dragons – that means bed hopping, doesn't it?" put in Gwessina.

"Kind of…most people like to pick a mate first and stick to him. I think it's the clandestine part that seems so – so WEARING!" explained T'lana. "Right, that's Arvel and Margwes accounted for….don't you talk to him until I've checked your stories tally; you can send him and Maven in when I've finished with you. Gwessina, you shared a room with Siriwenne?"

The girl nodded.

"I didn't get much sleep. She talks all the time in her sleep."

"What about?"

Gwessina shrugged.

"I don't know. I wasn't listening. It's pretty selfish of her to keep others awake like that."

T'lana eyed her with disfavour.

"People generally only talk in their sleep" the little Weyrwoman said tartly "If they're upset about something or worried. And in a small child it is cause for serious concern."

Gwessina shrugged again.

"She's a peculiar child anyway" she said sulkily. "You never know if she's going to play the fool or be in the sulks. Needs a good spanking I bet."

"So you heard nothing but the child? Nobody visiting the Necessary or anything?"

Gwessina shook her head.

"I heard nothing"

_And I bet you slept most of the night too, despite your dramatic complaints, you little tunnel snake_, thought T'lana. _No way I'm having you in MY Weyr if I can avoid it. Pilgra's Weyr, rather._

Arvel and Maven came in together; and T'lana frowned.

"I want to know what each of you did during the night: and if you heard anything" she said. "I'm not out to make trouble for anyone."

Arvel gave a sardonic grin. He was a turn or two younger than her and B'lova and good looking in the carefully untidy vein. Girls probably liked to smooth his pale blonde locks down.

"I guess I'd better confess, then, Weyrwoman" he gave her the eye and T'lana ignored it. "I took my cousin Margwes to a loving wench. Thought it was high time he got laid."

Maven snuffled.

"He said he'd beat me up if I told" he whined "So I was on my own. Right next to Cousin Andery's room. I could have been killed instead!"

T'lana tried not to eye the boy with disfavour. He looked everything that was neat and nicely turned out and his butter-yellow hair was slicked down neatly in contrast to his brother's disarranged mop. He was much of an age that the boy Tyrin had been when T'lana had just begun to foster him. Tyrin was a boy of unfailing cheerfulness and stoicism in the face of much suffering; and she could not help comparing the two.

"Did you hear anything?" she asked.

Maven shook his head violently.

"When I heard the flappy feet go into Andery's room I put my head under the covers. I didn't want to hear them grunting and squeaking like they always do. I didn't hear anything!"

"They?" she queried his statement "Andery and who do you mean by that?"

"Whoever. Women! When we stay with Uncle Andreas and Aunt Marrera, Andery always has someone in his room"

Andreas and Marrera would be Andery's parents; Maven would visit all the caverns of the Hold and the cotholds on a regular basis since his father was the travelling Harper. It was an odd situation in some ways, not to have all the family under one cavern roof, but handy to have Ranking ale to supervise subsidiary caverns since they were separated.

Arvel poked his brother.

"Don't be a little fool. At least Andery don't like boys like that Marksman that came through" Maven whimpered and Arvel grinned. "Tried to lay a hand on Maven's privates. HOW his nose bled! Maven's a sneak and a wimp but he IS my brother."

T'lana nodded approval. She had not been sure how she liked this lad, ready to threaten his little brother – however irritating he might be – and seemingly ambitious to be as great a philanderer as Andery himself. But if he'd fight for his little brother he went a long way to redeem himself in her eyes!

"How did you mighty chunks of manhood get out of the family Hold without the door creaking?" she asked.

Arvel grinned cheekily, unabashed by her sarcasm.

"We pleaded tiredness and slipped away before the last drudge had finished banking the fires for the night" he said. "Simple!"

T'lana nodded.

"Very good. I may ask you more later; you may both go" she nodded dismissal.

T'lana waited until the boys were down the passage then quietly followed them, standing by the door of the dining cavern to see what she might hear. Her little gold firelizard, Merry, knew 'ssh!' when given the command; and sat silently on the Weyrwoman's shoulder, her tail wrapped tightly about her neck, head on one side as though she were listening too! T'lana moved gently until she had a view into the room through the partly open door. She relied on the fact that boys are notoriously bad at shutting doors behind them.

"Who does this chit think she is anyway, ordering us about!" the over loud tones of a plump, though still not totally unattractive woman pierced the low conversation.

"Shut up" a man said sharply. "I advise you, Aswenne, to guard your tongue – severely. Antagonising Weyrfolk is only going to get you into trouble."

The woman seemed to deflate. Her husband – T'lana assumed – put a hand on her arm. It seemed at first glance to be reassuring; but T'lana saw the woman bite her lip. Her husband, that would be Sirrer, went on,

"We can say that neither of us left our room all night. We can back each other up" the woman bit her lip again, her face greying as the fingers bit deeper into her fleshy arm. She nodded hastily.

The small child seated on the floor gave them both a sharp look. Her little face was too peaked for a little girl in a well off home; and T'lana's eyes narrowed. There was a fresh bruise on the child's cheekbone too. T'lana almost gasped as she felt the waves of palpable hate from the little girl towards her parents. This one had power in plenty – and it was high time to start re-channelling it into more positive directions! Ah, if she could only prove the child ill-used, Holder Marlov could be persuaded to let the child's cousin B'lova foster her….

T'lana abandoned her study of the little girl to observe the other two couples. A balding man with Harper knots, the two blues of Riverbend as his place of assignment a not quite harmonious arrangement with the vivid Harper blue, had to be Arfan. He was talking – whining would be a better description – to the Headwoman.

"No, no Klah for me Abelline. It upsets my constitution. Just water, please, or an eggnog. That would set me up just fine!"

"That it might, Harper Arfan, but the fowls be off lay and I'm saving the eggs there are for me Lady Bellanda."

"Ah….Bellanda. but she doesn't understand how I suffer. She's never had a day's illness in her life."

Abelline snorted, and bustled off; and Mavelly addressed her husand.

"Now, Arfan, you know fine well you'd have less trouble with your digestion if you only took a bracing walk twice a day!"

Arfan gave his wife a darkling look, and muttered to himself. He forgot himself enough to drink the klah Abelline had left, though.

The final couple were sitting quietly. From her viewpoint at the door, T'lana could see Sirlin covertly holding Fenicia's hand under the table. His outward demeanour was forbidding; but his eyes softened as they lay upon his wife.

T'lana deliberately stamped her feet to walk into the room. An embarrassed silence fell as she came in.

"I should like to speak to Mavelly please" she said "And after her, Arfan" she nodded to the Harper's wife and gestured her to follow to the study.

Mavelly was fit looking as well as still handsome, weatherbeaten but in a way that suited her. She met T'lana's gaze squarely with her own.

"Marlin says you're asking what we all did all night" she said. T'lana nodded briefly confirmation. Mavelly went on, "I'd like to say we spent it in wild passion, but I'm afraid those days are past" she sighed gustily. T'lana had trouble imagining Arfan EVER involved in wild passion; it would surely make his back ache, or something! But she said nothing, gesturing for Mavelly to continue. She did.

"I confess I sleep like a log. Plenty of fresh air and exercise and a healthy diet. You may learn more from my husband; he always reckons he's a poor sleeper awakened by any little noise. Sorry I can't be more help."

She did not sound sorry.

T'lana asked,

"Does nothing ever wake you then?"

Mavelly shook her head.

"No. I used to wake when I heard Arvel moving about when he started his amatory adventures. Now I know what he's up to I don't even hear him, if that makes sense."

So much for the careful placing of bolsters in beds! Arvel's mother seemed quite unperturbed by her eldest child's nocturnal activities; and probably had a healthier relationship with him for that. T'lana nodded in understanding at the woman's statement; it was like she didn't hear as such R'gar's gentle snores, unless respitory infection made them change note; which was so rare as to almost never happen. Or like dragons snuffle-snorting as they turned over on their sandy couch.

"If you heard nothing unusual, then my congratulations on your ability to sleep so well!" said T'lana, adding as Mavelly looked smug "I confess I'd have been in the same case! We Weyrwomen have to work hard and we're usually too tired to do anything but sleep well! I'll talk to your husband now, if you'll send him through to me."

Apart from slight pallor, Arfan looked healthy enough. His pale yellow hair was even slightly lighter than that of his sons; it added to his general air of pallor and colourlessness. T'lana suspected that half the reason for his atrobilious attitude was a desire to be pampered and gently bullied by his bossy, but still fond, wife. Arfan eased himself into the chair carefully, favouring every joint he could think of. T'lana let him settle and said,

"Your wife tells me you are a poor sleeper – which means you are a most valuable witness!"

Arfan heaved a deep sigh; it came close to being a groan.

"Mavelly is good to me. Very good to me. But she doesn't understand how I suffer! She sleeps like one dead!" he moaned, then looked suddenly guilty as he realised that such a remark might not be in good taste.

"Accepting that you suffer" T'lana ignored his lapse in taste and decided to move on without a catalogue of specific suffering "Can you tell me what, if anything, you heard in the night?"

Arfan shut his eyes and groaned, supporting his forehead on long Harper's fingers and evidently determined to get the best he could from a new audience.

"Of course I had to use the Necessary several times" he said "One does at my age and in my condition. My frame never was healthy, and the degeneration of the turns…."

T'lana interrupted the degeneration of the turns to ask,

"So you passed Andery's door several times?"

"I – no, not exactly; but I could see it across the passage when I left our room. It was shut the first time. Later it was ajar and the glows were still uncovered. I thought nothing of it. The young man was a bad lot and not fit to have around female drudges, or any females for that matter. I certainly didn't want to talk to him, so I was very quiet that time…anyway, I then heard the bed creak and a woman laugh. Disgusting behaviour!"

"Definitely a woman's laugh?"

"Well he'd scarcely be bedding a man, would he?" asked the Harper huffily. "It wasn't very late. If you ask me it was that young thing Fenicia, and my brother Sirlin caught them at it and killed Andery. And entitled to kill him for that too in my opinion. The law certainly allows it a fair reason."

"You don't approve of your brother's marriage?"

"She's a flighty young thing. What for did she marry him but wealth and position, you tell me?"

"You don't think it could be a love match?" asked T'lana.

"Don't make me laugh! They hardly even look at each other! She's after a comfortable life and he's 'repenting at leisure' as they say, having found her out!"

T'lana's opinion of Harper-trained observation took something of a downturn at this point.

It took her several more minutes to get rid of the hypochondriac Harper without hearing all his woes; and she asked him to send in Aswenne.

Aswenne could have been pretty. Her rather overabundant figure was not considered attractive by the standards of most dragonriders, but T'lana knew that many men liked an ample woman. Her features were regular; but they and her figure seemed to be sliding downwards in an inexorable general decline. Her mouth drooped in unhappy lines; her eyes sagged. She made T'lana think of a bag of manure dumped unceremoniously on a ledge. She spoke quickly as she came under the little Weyrwoman's scrutiny.

"My husband and I were together all night."

T'lana raised an eyebrow.

"And you have the bruises to prove it, no doubt."

"I – what do you mean by that?"

"I put it to you that you say and do whatever your husband tells you to say and do."

A hunted look came into the slightly protuberant pale blue eyes; to be chased by a sudden look of….hope? cunning? T'lana was not sure.

Aswenne said,

"Well, you surely don't count the time I spent in the Necessary – I felt unwell. But surely there would not be time for my husband….." she trailed off and dropped her eyes. T'lana sat, silent; and Aswenne glanced up through her lashes. T'lana asked,

"You say you went to the Necessary and spent some time there?"

Aswenne nodded. T'lana pursed her lips.

"Was there a light still shining under Marlin and Gwesela's door when you passed it?" she asked suddenly.

Aswenne shook her head.

"I didn't see one. I wasn't looking."

"Very well. Send in Sirrer."

Aswenne gasped.

"Don't tell him what I said!" her fear seemed real enough.

"After you have sent Sirrer to us go directly to Marlov. Tell him how your husband mistreats you and your daughter; tell him I will witness. I know that desperation can drive you to things you can later regret" T'lana's tone held sympathy. "I will do what I can to help you in this sorry affair, I give you my word on Mirrith's egg."

Aswenne stumbled out; and B'lova frowned, flicking back through her notes to look up her sketch plan of the sleeping arrangements.

"T'lana, there's something here that doesn't fit" she ventured.

"Yes, dear one, I know. I asked the question on purpose."

They were interrupted by the arrival of Sirrer. He was a big man with an antagonistic expression. His hair was a mid blonde, cropped short in a way that was unfashionable for holderfolk though common enough amongst dragonriders. Somehow the lack of softening to the head seemed to add to his aggressiveness. He led with his pugnacious jaw.

"I don't really feel I can add to whatever my wife told you" he said without preamble, not deigning to sit where T'lana indicated.

"No?" T'lana's voice was soft. "Yet she spent time in the Necessary. What did you do while she was in there?"

Sirrer's eyes fairly bulged with rage and a muscle twitched in the side of his face. His face suffused with purple, and T'lana was interested to note that she could see it spread across his scalp through his short, pale hair.

"She said that, did she? She was lying! She may have gone to the bathing room to wash off the blood, but the time she was out of the room it was killing Andery, and I will not protect her if she's trying to blame me!" he shouted.

"Yes I know she killed Andery" said T'lana calmly, unmoved by his anger. "Because you told her to. And I know why. Andery was a proddy little turd who had to try to charm any woman not actually geriatric; and I suspect that downtrodden Aswenne was flattered. Now Andery would never actually sleep with her; the impression I gained was that he liked his bedmates to be slender young things. Besides, I doubt she'd dare to actually cheat on you. But you couldn't see that, could you? She's your possession. She had to prove to you that Andery meant nothing to her and your orders meant everything – by killing him. He may not have admired her, but a man is usually flattered to wake up with a naked woman astride him. Tell me, did you slow him down by lacing his night time klah with fellis, or did she?"

T'lana had surmised most of the details; and as she had done before used her 'inner ear' to check them as she spoke. Sirrer stared at her, white faced.

"YOU!" he roared, launching himself at her.

B'lova languidly extended her foot; and he tripped headlong, knocking himself out on the desk. T'lana bent to check his breathing.

"He'll live" she said laconically. "Come in Siriwenne" she commanded.

The child slid round the door.

"How did you know I was there?"

"It's my business to know things like that. You saw something in the night, didn't you?"

The child nodded.

"I was thirsty. I got up for a drink of water. Gwessina was snoring like a watchwher. I – I saw mother naked and all covered in blood!" her face crumpled and she dissolved into tears of remembered terror. T'lana came round the desk and put her arms around her. Siriwenne shook with muffled sobs.

"Which of them hit you?" the Weyrwoman asked.

"Sirrer. He came into the girls' room and told me I better not say anything. Then he hit me to remind me, of course."

"There's no 'of course' about it!" admonished T'lana indignantly. "Surely you know that you get hit more than a lot of kids?"

The thin shoulders shrugged.

"I thought I was badder than other kids. I hate my parents. That's bad, isn't it?"

"My poor kiddie, it's never good to hate anyone. But you've good excuse, I guess. Don't worry. B'lova is your cousin – we have cause to take you away from here."

"Here – I'm no good at mothering people!" protested B'lova in lively alarm. "That's J'nara you're thinking of. Even Teegan sticks out his lip when he sees me, and he's a sunny enough babe with most people!" she referred to the child J'nara was fostering who had survived the avalanche that had killed his mother.

"Fardles" said T'lana. "Besides, she can foster with me in with Serelis and Sagarra and Marag. More fun for her that way" she added prosaically. "Would you like that, Siriwenne?"

The little girl regarded her with solemn dark eyes, big in her peaked face, made like Arfan's paler by the pale hair around it.

"No-one ever asked me what I'd like before" she said. "They just say 'the child should do this' or 'the child will like that' as though I didn't even have a name. I guess if you care what I want – even if it's only a pretend that you care – I'd rather be with you."

T'lana hugged Siriwenne in speechless pain for her misery.

"Good. That's settled then" she said.

"T'lana, what if father protests?" asked B'lova.

"Dear one, I can handle your father. Blindfold, in fog, standing on one leg."

B'lova giggled.

On the floor Sirrer groaned.

"Go to your father" T'lana said to B'lova. "I'll tell him what happened and what we're going to do about it." The little weyrwoman expertly tied Sirrer up before his wits fully returned to him. She did not want him harming his daughter, whatever she thought of his chances of hurting her!

Sirlin and Fenicia arrived before Holder Marlov got there.

"You've not asked us what we were doing" said Fenicia, bluntly.

T'lana looked from one to the other.

"I don't need to" she said. "I would have thought it pretty obvious what you were doing."

Both flushed.

"Obvious?" Sirlin was surprised.

"Especially to me" said T'lana. "My man is pretty reserved too. I recognise the signs. Besides, I HAVE seen the sheets in your room. Various stains, you know."

The couple were highly embarrassed! T'lana grinned.

"I'm really glad you're happy together" she told them. "Some relatives B'lova can be truly glad to claim!"

"T'lana's very blunt" murmured B'lova. "She gets it from Pilgra. You get used to it" the young Greenrider had returned with her father; and he had brought Aswenne, who cried out in relief to see her husband lying – glaring balefully – like a trussed porcine on the floor and gagged against his intemperate language.

T'lana recounted to all the family what had happened; and Marlov shook his head in horrified wonder.

"Aswenne – a woman! I could see that many husbands…or fathers…what am I to do? Will you advise me, Werywoman?"

"Aswenne is as much a victim in many ways as Andery. I suggest you set her to work to pay her debt for his life; it must be up to you whether she do that work for your sister or not. But if, as I suspect, Andery was spoiled, then she will only be in a position to be bullied again. Then having killed once, she might do it again as an escape; and that would harden her. I would suggest you keep her under your eye, or ask someone practical like Mavelly to take her on. As to your cousin, I'm afraid he's just plain nasty and in your shoes I'd refer the whole matter to Lord Bargen. I would also suggest that as neither is fit to care for Siriwenne that she be fostered by her cousin B'lova."

"Taken to the Weyr? So young?" Marlov was startled.

"I think a totally fresh start elsewhere would do her the world of good" said T'lana firmly.

"Well – if you think so, Weyrwoman. If you think my daughter capable…." He finished dubiously.

"She'll have a lot of help" said T'lana cheerfully.

There was a sudden outcry from Gwessina.

"How come that brat gets to go to the Weyr and I don't?" she demanded, actually stamping her foot. T'lana regareded her with a frosty eye.

"You've not heard a word about what she's been through have you, you selfish little bovine? She comes because she needs us; and she at least has some modicum of self control. We don't want any more spoiled brats who are too self centred to care about the troubles even of their young relatives let alone see a bigger picture. Dragonriders are protectors of the people, not just there to flit around being unkind and impatient at them. Keep that attitude, my girl and you'll NEVER Impress a dragon!"

Gwessina gasped at that blunt speech. Her mother tutted.

"Dear me, Gwessi, you haven't let people flatter you just because the family is well off, have you? I'm sorry. It looks as though I've failed you as a mother. I think it's time you were set to work" she smiled sunnily "There's a nice family in an outlying cot who could use a good strong girl to help nurse their ailing aunties. I'll sort that out."

T'lana gave Gwessina an encouraging smile. If she could outgrow her adolescent bad behaviour – and she would if her mother had anything to do about it – then they would see about accepting her at the Weyr. T'lana kept quiet about it being the girl's Right to come! And the family did, she reflected, have power.

Afterword

Sirrer tried to tell Lord Bargen that he was no murderer since he never laid a finger on Andery.

Lord Bargen pointed out that it was not he who would terminate Sirrer's worthless life but the rope noose as it tightened about his neck.

_A/N; Sirrer is a 'right' man. Frequently charming they exert an almost hypnotic effect on women under their control. Had Aswenne had the strength to leave him, his self esteem would have collapsed and he might even have committed suicide. This is the longest short story in the book, the rest are less of a long haul..._


	2. Chapter 2

**2 Lost and Found**

H'llon circled lazily on Melth , peering down into secluded valleys. He liked to explore, searching for different types of wood. Often he brought Zaira with him; this time she had duties with the weyrlings that kept her occupied.

As it happened. H'llon was to be extremely glad he had not brought his beloved with him.

A slight movement just below him caught his eye; and he turned to see several wherry-kites circling. H'llon disliked these creatures that specialised in scavenging. There was no rational reason for his dislike; it merely existed. The creatures were even uglier than ordinary wherries, themselves ready enough to scavenge, for the wherry-kites had none of the usual marabou down on their head or neck, making it more convenient for them to reach right inside larger carcasses. Their presence, and in number – H'llon counted four – suggested a largish carcass, and he wheeled closer. Chances were it was a wild animal like a grizzly, or a logger or a springer, the four having to fight over a smaller carcase, for a springer was about the same size as a caprine and seemed to behave in a similar way but for having six limbs. If however it was a domestic beast that had strayed a cotholder would be glad to know what had happened to it, and would like to have the meat for himself! H'llon followed the boldest wherry-kite in; and suddenly he saw the body.

It appeared to be a man, sat propped against a rock. H'llon pulled a face; High Reaches Weyr did a lot of mountain rescue, usually in winter when avalanches were an ever present danger, but also rescued herders who had hurt themselves in high pastures or who had been injured chasing recalcitrant beasts. A man without family could easily die alone if he were hurt, and H'llon assumed this had been the case. There was blood on his chest.

Melth landed; and the assembling wherry-kites – there were now nine of them – fled with harsh cries of alarm. Melth extended his wings protectively for H'llon to make a closer examination uninterrupted by the vile beasts.

The Bronze Rider gasped as the man's eyes opened; for the gaping chest wound that had been immediately apparent had left H'llon in no doubt that the man was dead. The wounded man spoke in a gurgling whisper.

"Thought…them critters 'd eat me to death…..oh great shells, man, my ….friends…..dead!...they're all dead!"

The effort of speaking was too much; there was nothing H'llon could do as the man expired before his eyes.

It was to the chest wound that H'llon first turned his attention. It was circular, and had bled less than he might have expected from so large a hole. It appeared to be seared, as though the man had been stabbed with a red hot – no, white-hot, iron bar!

H'llon examined the dead man's hands. There were no defence burns as one might expect if a man were fending of an attack with a hot bar; his hands were howvere pitted with ingrained grime, the nails short and blackened, the palms hard and calloused. H'llon thought the man likely to be a miner; there were no knots on the clothing he wore, but as he appeared to be dressed in the singlet and trews he wore to work in – equally grimed – he would scarce be likely to be wearing his knots anyway. Any gang he worked with would know who he was, and he would put on a tunic or jacket normally if leaving the face. Certainly to come outside. So he had not had time to do so; he had been pursued perhaps?

H'llon left the unfortunate miner in the protection of Melth; he hesitated to bury him in case he might find anyone that might identify him. There may have been very little blood: but there was enough to form a trail, and H'llon followed it and the occasional gobs of bloody sputum where the man had coughed his painful way. It led up the valley.

The miner had not come far. Just round a spur was a rock-fall, almost covering the doors of what must be a small minehold. The rocks appeared to have fallen from a point above the doors, from a surface sheered clean and smooth.

Which was all very puzzling.

The miner had said that all his friends were dead – but he might be wrong. H'llon knew that he could not shift all that rock himself: so he asked Melth to put out a call to his friends and also to ask someone to bring Masterminer Nicat. Then the Bronze Rider retrieved the body and built a rough cairn by dint of making a start on shifting some of the loose rock. Being H'llon he was scrupulous to make sure he could readily uncover the man's face if need be.

oOoOo

Quickly dragons of all shades started circling in; and soon dragons and their riders alike joined in to shift the fallen rubble as quickly as was safe. Masterminer Nicat arrived almost as quickly with T'lana, for whom the otherwise quite cold man had a soft spot, and was quickly able to identify the miner as one of a number of bachelor journeymen who were operating this small minehold.

"This is Teg. There should also be Bevell, Agitty, Rator, Olfer and Arun" the Masterminer declared. "When Weyrwoman T'lan told me the location I looked out the list." He still referred to T'lana as T'lan as she had been known when she appealed for his aid to save Segrith's eggs.

"Excellent" approved H'llon. "Do you know if any of them also had apprentices?"

"Not so far as I am aware. And I should hope I would have been kept informed!" boomed Nicat.

"The wound on Teg's chest worries me" frowned H'llon. "It looks as though it has been burned with an iron, right through!"

"The cut above the door looks familiar" said T'lana. "In ancient parts of some Holds, passages are cut like that, almost as though they have been partly melted."

"You mean an ancient rock-cutting or melting tool might have been used as a weapon?" asked H'llon.

T'lana nodded.

"It's a working hypothesis."

Masterminer Nicat said,

"We have records to indicate that such tools existed; but they worked by some method we cannot understand today. The records say that they 'ran out of energy' whatever they mean by that; but the hides have been copied and recopied so many times it might not even be what it originally said."

"Well this one hasn't run out of energy" said H'llon grimly "It seems to be perfectly energetic."

"But how much did he use to make the rock-fall happen? Could it be running out now?" said T'lana.

"We can't count on it" the Masterminer said pessimistically. "And he's proved himself prepared to use it to kill – whoever he is. I'd like to see a working one" he added wistfully.

"He's killed more than once" said R'cal coming over. "We have another body."

"We'd best just keep digging – and see what and who we find" H'llon suggested.

Once the rock-fall was cleared, the partially open bronze-clad doors became accessible; and quickly three more bodies were found, burned like Teg and the man R'cal had discovered.

"I'm afraid I don't know them all personally, not well enough to identify" growled the Masterminer, who hated admitting any deficiency.

"That's easy" S'negen spoke up. "Geri here is the Weyrartist; she can draw the faces and I'll take her to the Minecraft Hall to get them identified."

H'llon nodded in relief.

"If Geri doesn't mind?" he asked her.

Geriana already had her sketching block out, grateful as always to H'llon for the endless sheets of paper he turned out of his workshop! Under her expert fingers, faces appeared on the creamy sheet of flax fibre paper. T'lana nodded to S'negen to take the weyrartist. The Masterminer's presence here was most useful, so he elected, at T'lana'a request not to return himself at this juncture.

The minehold itself was small; there was a dormitory area, a bathing room with necessary separated only by a rough stone screening wall; and at the other end a kitchen and living cavern. Judging by the state of some of the utensils, food was a bit of a hit-and-miss affair, but apart from what was burned on, things were clean enough.

It was the passage that led to the main mine that gave more clues; it was here that one of the bodies had been discovered. It was not far from a recent natural appearing rock-fall that seemed to have opened up an old tunnel.

The tunnel was old enough to have the smooth cut walls T'lana knew indicated the Ancients. Here again, as in that old passage at Nabol that she had found, the soft glow of light from ceiling panels illuminated the scene. A second, much older, rock-fall blocked this short stretch of passage further on, but what was apparent was just two rooms. One of them seemed to be an old Necessary and bathing room. The bath pool was small; an inlet showed where once hot water had flowed in, long since dry; and a crack ran clean across the pool's depression. Rotting shoes and a pile of what had once been clothes bore testament to a hurried departure; as did two other items by the clothing. One item was a pair of lenses linked by a frame with backward curving side pieces; the other was once seemingly mounted on a rotting leather strap and was a glass covered circular object with numbers from one to twelve set around it, and two pointers attached in the centre.

The other room was a sleeping room, for only one occupant. The rotting coverlets were still in place on the bed, their colours still bright and unfaded.

"They had good dyes, didn't they?" commented T'lana enviously.

The air in here was dry and cool; it helped to keep things preserved of course. The furniture seemed undamaged by time, though a chest of drawers beside the bed was of wood.

"Oak" said H'llon running a loving hand over the surface "And still serviceable I wager with a little care…."

On the chest was mounted a small but excellent quality mirror, and several objects were arranged upon it. The most obvious was the picture.

Geriana had just returned and, having exclaimed as T'lana had over the dyes of the fabrics, caught sight of it.

"Exquisite!" she gasped. "Why – it looks so lifelike, I can't even see any brushmarks though it's a miniature!"

"Did you identify the men?" H'llon was curious about the picture but felt the matter in hand should be dealt with first.

"Bevel, Agitty, Olfer and Arun" she recited. "Not Rator. So either we haven't found him yet or he's the culprit."

"If he has done this he shall be brought to justice" Boomed Nicat. "Unforgiveable!"

"He found the cutter in here all right" remarked H'llon. "Look – there's a hole in the floor. I reckon he set it off by accident and saw the possibilities" he pointed to a deep hole on the far side of the bed, below a wall-mounted rack of some kind. "That rack probably held it; he took it down; did something to it; made the hole; and then, one must assume, went on a spree of homicidal violence" the Weyrwoodcrafter said distastefully.

Geriana was busy examining the picture minutely.

It showed two men, one older, wearing the lenses they had found in the bathing room over his eyes; the wristband with its numerical ornament was on his wrist. The younger man had his arm across the shoulder of a small Bronze dragon.

"They put them to egg quite old back then" commented the artist. "He's way older than D're even" she turned the picture over and read an inscription on the back "'self, Jamie and Tenath'. No contraction? Unless 'self' is the rider – but it seems unlikely since those items you found must belong here."

"That dragon's much the size of Denth" commented H'llon "And a little larger than the White Dragon. Maybe that's as big as Bronze dragons got way back. His proportions are adult; and Benden bred dragons are way larger than Oldtimer ones, even over just four hundred turns."

"That's more than likely" said T'lana. "Although we could also postulate that Tenath was also a sport. But…..you get throwbacks in humans, people who resemble relatives long dead remembered only by the oldest with outstanding features; perhaps dragons started small and were bred for size and strength. I'd not like to fight Thread on a whole Flight of such tiny beasts!"

All the dragonriders murmured assent! H'llon nodded too. There was not enough data to postulate too dogmatic a theory on as yet, but it seemed reasonable to suppose dragons had once been smaller. H'llon sniffed hard. Whilst they should really be looking for the errant Rator, the young Woodcrafter-rider found this close touch with a distant ancestor both fascinating and poignant, Bronze Rider and crafter together. It could in some ways almost be H'llon and his father! H'llon picked up the lenses and put them on his own face experimentally, as the crafter had them in the picture; and everything became blurred!

"Whatever was he thinking of?" he gasped, passing them to T'lana. "With an exquisite picture like this, they valued things to look at. Why spoil his sight?"

T'lana peered through the lenses.

"But some people see things blurred anyway" she said. "Especially as they get older. Perhaps if things are already blurry, these un-blur?"

H'llon frowned.

"We must find people with poor sight and try them" he declared. "If they work, perhaps Master Wansor can copy them for other people. He's the expert on lenses" he looked back at the chest. "What else do we have here?"

The manicure set was familiar enough, but the quality of the metal made H'llon gasp. But hat really caught his attention was the book.

"The complete Casebook of Sherlock Holmes" he read. "What can that be?" idly he leafed through a few pages – then lifted excited eyes. "T'lana – the language is strange and archaic, but I believe it is a manual of logicating! It's the case book of a logicator written by his assistant, I'm sure!"

"Now that" said T'lana "Will be of great importance. H'llon, you will study this when we've found Rator. So put it away now – and we'll see what else we can find to help us find him. This room" she said regretfully "Whilst fascinating, can tell us little more about the current problem. Let us return to their main living room and see what we may find there."

The living cavern was sparse; but on the wall was a rough chalked map of the mine and the outworks in the surrounding area.

"If he'd stayed in the mine tunnels I doubt he'd have closed it up" surmised H'llon.

"No. No way; there's no easy break through elsewhere" Master Nicat declared, studying the maps.

"Master Nicat, if he had an anciet cutting tool, would it make it economic to work a working closed because of difficult cutting?" asked H'llon excitedly.

"Yes, quite probably. Why?"

H'llon pointed to an outwork on the map. Labelled like the others with chalk fragments a cross had been put through it and the comment 'too difficult for too little'.

"This zinc mine seems to have been closed for lack of return compared to the difficulty in digging it" he said.

Nicat nodded.

"Yes, yes. I remember now, they sent notice that it was increasingly hard to get enough, asking permission to close it down."

"Then that seems a good place to start looking. If I were him, I'd not waste an ancient cutter on metals I could retrieve by normal means. I'd go for the difficult to get high value metal."

"By the first Egg, lad, you're quite right!" the Masterminer slapped his thigh. Let's go!"

The Masterminer rode quite happily with H'llon on Melth, circling to pick out the mine from the air. The small but significant cascade of debris gave away the location; where the mine had been reopened, soil and rock fragments had scattered down the mountainside in a distinct colour change to that from the original workings. H'llon directed Melth to land cautiously: one of those cutters could inflict serious, maybe fatal damage even on a big Bronze dragon!

The hum seemed to fill the passageways as cautiously they entered the mine. By the map, the last worked area was a goodly way in; and they proceeded warily, H'llon half shading the glow basket they had brought, the hum becoming louder as they went, reverberating around them. S'net. S'negen, B'kas, V'gion and R'cal had come; T'lana had kept the others guarding the ancient room at the mine in case H'llon's surmise had been incorrect and Ratar returned there. L'gal and T'rin were having a field day cataloguing everything they found in order to send a copy to the Masterharper, as well as to F'lar. The young Harpers were all for opening up the old rock-fall to see the rest of the forgotten minehold, but T'lana had put a veto on this course of action until both Master Nicat and T'bor gave the go ahead!

Meanwhile H'llon and Nicat led the search for Rator.

The man was at work by the light of several glow baskets, making the searchers' one redundant, so H'llon laid it down. Ratar was making every cut count; every now and then the cutting beam faltered. Even so he had cut a great deal.

"Rator you murderous son of the Red Star!" roared Nicat, scattering the collected firelizards into _Between_ at the mention of that dread place.

Rator jumped and turned; and with a snarl of rage let fly with a lethal beam from his laser cutter! H'llon barged Nicat, shifting the big man only because of his own size and strength; and the two big men crashed to the floor as the searing beam passed close enough for the acrid smell of singed hair to tell H'llon he had received an involuntary curling of his short locks! Rator raised his makeshift weapon again, and H'llon rolled aside as he pressed down viciously with a thumb. But this time nothing happened! Before Ratar could try again, the other dragonmen had leaped as a man upon him!

Rator was returned, bound, to the Minercraft Hall under the grim escort of Masterminer Nicat. The man would probably never see the light of day again, toiling chained underground to recompense the relatives of the men he had killed. H'llon thought it meet. Not only had he killed five innocent men, he had recklessly wasted the little remaining power of the ancient cutter in so doing and in covering up the main minehold; when it could have ben given to the Minercraft hall to use when deemed important. At least Master Nicat had been persuaded by T'lana, since she was such a favourite of his, to hand the thing over to MasterSmith Fandarel in case its design might one day be duplicated!

Further searches of the ancient miner's room revealed other strange and apparently useless artefacts; all of hich were delivered to the ideas exchange for further study. H'llon however kept the book about the ancient logicator Sherlock Holmes. The language was strange, and there were many words he could not translate, but the young man set himself the task to learn as best he could, and asked T'rin's aid in translating the tales as best they might between them for the easier understanding of others. T'rin was glad of something cerebral to occupy him; his foster mother T'lana was preoccupied and upset, for they had scarce returned from the minehold when her friend L'rilly passed out and had to be taken to the Healer hall. It transpired that the Gold Rider would need a serious invasive operation, something not to be taken lightly! H'llon sent word via D're that she was to get well soon, and he would read to her of the ancient logicator; he hoped it would cheer her up.


	3. Chapter 3

**3 The Proxy Attention**

H'llon took a trip to the Healercraft Hall between Threadfall to ask a question of Masterhealer Oldive. He combined it with giving a lift to L'rilly's effective sister-in-law to visit the Queenrider as she recovered from her operation. He waited politely for the Masterhealer to find time to see him; and the Masterhealer made sure he quickly made time!

"What can I do for you, Bronze Rider?" the hunchbacked Healer asked, waving H'llon to a chair.

"Sir, I have been studying an ancient document in which it is stated that a method has been discovered to tell the difference between a bloodstain and any other stain" H'llon began. "Has this been lost?"

Oldive nodded sadly.

"Yes, I'm afraid so, Bronze Rider. Of course, once we have something unmistakeably human blood, it is possible to tell which sort it is."

H'llon looked surprised.

"What sort? There's more than one? I though blood was just blood!"

Oldive beamed, glad to have an interested audience.

"Oh yes indeed. It's one of the most important pieces of information to be preserved. For if someone has lost a lot of blood, it is possible to take small amounts from other people and give what we call a transfusion. It's one of the uses of the needlethorn you riders so kindly collect for us. But if it is the wrong sort of blood, the patient will die – except in one case."

"Tell me more!" H'llon was fascinated.

"There are four main types of blood. The ancients gave them letters that we use, though we do not know the original significance of the letters. They are A, B, AB and O. The O type can be given to anyone; the wrong type otherwise is invariably lethal. It's a tiring and complex business to separate out the parts of the blood to test, but it can be done and is worth doing in an emergency. The needlethorns are used to pierce a blood vessel and blood can pass through a tube of gut through the hollow thorn into the bloodstream."

H'llon nodded.

"So if a man were suspected of killing someone and had blood on him but said he had a nosebleed, so long as he and the dead man had different types of blood, you could test it to find out?"

Oldive nodded.

"That would not prove a problem"

"That's very exciting! And surely too if a stain was not any type of blood you know it might be animal blood or not even blood at all?"

Oldive hesitated then nodded.

"Yes, of course; I had not thought of that."

"Excellent! I'm sure people have been condemned wrongly before because of unfortunate circumstances. Now there's a chance to prove them innocent!"

"Of course" said Oldive "Returning to your man with a nosebleed; if both he and the dead man had the same bloodtype it would prove nothing, either way."

H'llon pulled a face.

"True; but it gives a first line of enquiry. Thank you very much for your time and the information!"

"It seems to me" said the Masterhealer "That it would be well if you – logicators, don't you call yourselves – worked closely with the Healer Hall. There is much in common between our crafts; we must use clues, often obscure, to diagnose sickness; and there are things about bodies that we can tell through experience. I know that redheaded imp who leads you – the Queenrider I should say – is a dragonhealer, and she knows something about human healing too; but a specialist might well help too."

"Any suggestions?" asked H'llon "For our own Calla spends a lot of time patching up weyrlings and Threadscored Riders; and I hate to feel that we might pester you too often."

Oldive laughed.

"I'm always happy to receive requests for aid from High Reaches" he said. "You're a cheerful bunch of young scoundrels with good hearts and a great deal of courtesy. But as it happens I've someone in mind, if you think your weyrhealer won't mind."

"I'll check" said H'llon seriously. He fished a rather grubby piece of paper out of his belt pouch – he carried charcoal, chalk and graphite sticks in there too – and scribbled a quick note to Calla. Deftly he tied it to bronze firelizard Sniffer's collar and directed the little creature to find Calla and wait for an answer.

"He'll return soon" explained the weyrwoodcrafter. "Sniffer knows to wait for a reply. It's a concept Nibbler, Grasper and Peep have trouble with" he added, naming the brown, blue and green firelizards that formed the rest of his wild-Impressed fair.

The reply returned, written in Calla's firm hand, on the back of the original message; H'llon could make as much paper as was necessary but there was no point wasting it!

"Never turn down a spare healer" Calla had written!

"Well in that case" said Oldive "I have a young second cousin who just made Journeyman. His name is Ketelin and he always has his nose in other folk's business – in the nicest possible way! He's no gossip or busybody, he just likes to know all that's going on, and to understand why other people act as they do."

H'llon chuckled.

"Sounds like he's suit us down to the ground" he declared.

"Come and meet him" Oldive invited. "He might welcome your comments on something that's troubling him."

The young man Ketelin was examining the body of a small child in the cool underground autopsy room that few people even amongst healers knew existed. It was here that T'lana had helped Oldive examine young Lord Tasker. He glanced up as Oldive and H'llon came in.

"I heard he died" said Oldive.

"Like the other one" the young man nodded sadly. His face was set and white, mouth compressed to hold in his misery; this child's death had obviously affected him greatly.

Oldive said,

"This is Bronze Rider Journeyman Woodcrafter H'llon. You've heard me speak of the redoubtable T'lana and her band of logicators. I wondered if an extra head trained to observe might help you."

"Can't hurt" said the young man laconically, pushing back tow coloured hair. "C''mon then, H'llon of many titles and tell me what you think."

"I'm no healer" H'llon said apologetically as he came forward to the table, brightly lit by glows in glass bottomed baskets suspended over it. "I can add facts together; but in a medical case I need to have the facts outlined."

Ketelin studied him; and nodded.

"Good. I like a man who doesn't pretend knowledge he doesn't have. Now you look at this babe's eyes. Do you see those pin-prick sized red dots?"

"Yes" H'llon replied.

"You only get that if someone suffocates. Or is poisoned by something that inhibits breathing; but that's essentially suffocation anyway. Drowning counts, including drowning in vomit or those diseases that fill the lungs with water; strangulation – anything that stops the passage of air."

H'llon nodded.

"Yes, I see."

"Now this child's mother is married to some minor relative of Gr – Lorde Groghr" he amended hastily as he caught Oldive's eye on him. "But she used to be an apprentice here and has some basic knowledge. In fact she once saved the life of a Harper boy who had fallen in the river; she blew air into his lungs until he started breathing for himself again."

"That's possible? I thought when the breathing stopped life was extinct" H'llon was amazed.

Ketelin shrugged.

"It doesn't always work, but if the breathing has only been stopped a few minutes it can often be started up again. It's a simple technique if some basic rules are followed. So too the heart can be restarted, but that's a much more tricky procedure and not as often successful; and it's scary for people to watch so….."

H'llon nodded. People had become afraid of many medical techniques, he knew, afraid of something as routine as the removal of the appendix even though leaving it could mean an agonising death. Lord Groghe's father had died because his wife would not give permission to perform the operation.

"Would it be betraying craft secrets to show us how to restart breathing? And restarting the heart for that matter….we dragonfolk are more phlegmatic about scary techniques I guess than some folk, and the shock of Threadscore can stop the heart of some people before their time…."

Ketelin exchanged a quick look with Oldive.

"It's always good to have people who know how to save lives with primary aid" said Ketelin. "We were discussing only the other day that if each Hold would only designate a few people to learn a few simple techniques that could be imparted in an intensive course no longer than a sevenday, more people would live past first injuries until a healer could be summoned. I'd be glad to put as many people at High Reaches through such a course as wanted."

H'llon beamed.

"I can guarantee you almost all of the logicators will sign up for it" he said "And probably several other people as well. I'm sorry, you were telling me about this child and his mother."

Ketelin nodded soberly.

"Yes, she remembered her training and when her child stopped breathing she did the same for him, and hurried him here. But he was already dead."

"So she did her best? Why did he suddenly stop breathing?" asked H'llon.

"I don't know. It does sometimes happen with very small children. It happened to her older child a matter of a turn or so ago, when he was three turns old, the same age this one is – was – this time."

"I suggested a defect" put in Oldive "But Ketelin has a problem with that."

Ketelin flushed, and H'llon reflected how like the Masterhealer it was to be so open minded as to accept a difference of opinion from an underling as potentially valid. Ketelin admitted,

"Something just feels wrong. And I'm concerned that these children were dead before she started to breathe for them. I don't think you'd have so many or such pronounced petechiae in the eyes, though I may be wrong. It- it's just something feels WRONG!"

He pushed back the rebellious lock of hair again impatiently. H'llon nodded understanding.

"I see. Yes, gut instinct is often the best. It is, I think, the brain adding up clues so subtle you don't know you have them. Tell me, what's her husband like?"

Ketelin shrugged dismissively.

"A nice enough young man. Kind to her, I think. He's rather obsessive about the breeding of porcines, spends more time talking to his Journeyman Beastcrafter than his wife I wager."

"A bit dull?"

Ketelin grinned.

"That's an understatement."

"Does he appreciate her skills as a Healer?" asked H'llon. The Journeyman Healer considered.

"I think he's glad she has healer knowledge" he said cautiously "But no more."

"I wager she had a lot of praise and fame for saving the Harper apprentice" said H'llon.

"Of course, it was worthy of recognition. You mean – can you mean what I think?"

H'llon shuffled uncomfortably.

"I know it's an infamous suggestion…." He said unhappily.

"I'll say! To suggest a woman would smother her own children to get attention!" Ketelin was shocked.

"But Ketelin" put in Oldive "I've come across what you may not have yet: cases where people deliberately hurt themselves to get attention, usually allied with outlandish stories of being attacked, or escaping from some disaster. Some even invent symptoms of strange and unknown ailments. We need to consider if this could be something similar."

Ketelin swallowed.

"Sorry to jump at you Bronze Rider" he said. "It DOES fit the facts….it's something I'm unwilling to consider as being so horrifying I don't WANT to believe it. But if there is more proof we could find…."

H'llon said,

"If nothing else fits we must be led by the facts. The great Holmes said 'when you have eliminated all that is impossible, whatever is left, no matter how improbable must be the truth'; so we need to search further. Were these dead boys her only children?"

Ketelin shook his head.

"No, there's a little girl. She's the oldest. Actually she did have a choking problem; Deera breathed for her too, all the time she was riding in with her, through the child's nose. We extracted a stone the child had lodged in her throat that she had put in her mouth. Any further in and Deera's efforts would have been in vain. There's a tube from the nose to the throat" he explained quickly "And there was just enough of it unblocked for the air to go past the stone. The girl lived."

"Hmm" said Oldive. "And that might well have reminded her that once she'd been praised for doing something similar. If her life was dull and she felt undervalued…."

"But what do we DO about it?" asked Ketelin, aghast. "Or even to know if we malign her?"

"We might warn her husband" said H'llon "Or pass it to Lord Groghe to make judgement on, though if we CAN'T prove it, that's not so satisfactory….and it's not nice to destroy trust in a marriage without more basis of facts. Have you checked in the child's throat and nose? There might be fibres from cloth if he were suffocated."

"I'll look now" said Ketelin. "Lower that glow basket, will you please? – yes, lovely" as H'llon let the chain that held it pay out through the pulley that raised and lowered it. Ketelin peered into the child's mouth; and with a grunt reached in with swabs on fine sticks.

"Not just fibres" he said grimly, examining what he had removed "Here's Wherry down from a pillow. That cannot have got there if he was, as she claims, just playing and stopped breathing suddenly."

"I'll see Lord Groghe" said Oldive. "I expect he'll order a divorce and award custody of the daughter to the father. Deera's not safe to have care of children. She must be found work well away from them, though I'm convinced this need for attention is a kind of illness of the brain itself."

H'llon nodded, relieved. Lord Groghe would accept any reasonable suggestions made to him. H'llon had no patience with what he considered the lazy option of just banishing criminals and merely shifting the problem elsewhere!

"By the by, Ketelin" said Oldive "You've been asking a lot of questions about the High Reaches Logicators recently. So you'd better pack – you'll be going to join them!"

"I am? Sir, I hope I've not displeased you and that's why you're sending me away?" Ketelin asked.

Oldive shook his head, clapping the young man on the shoulder.

"No, lad, the reverse. I promised Bronze Rider H'llon someone good. You're it."

Ketelin flushed in pleasure.

"THANK you sir!" he stammered.

"And we also very happy with out bargain" said H'llon sincerely!

* * *

_A/N : Deera exhibited Munchausen's Syndrome by Proxy_


	4. Chapter 4

**4 The Clever Man**

"The theory that I wish to postulate is this" began H'llon, pompously. "We know that the place-we-don't mention is a world like this, well, not very much like this, but still a world. So, if we also suggest that stars are suns, as I believe Master Wansor has speculated, so far away as to seem as small as points, then they might have worlds too."

"Reasoning?" T'lana looked up from her stick-weaving with which she was making Sagarra a new belt.

"Because Holmes and Watson refer to 'THE moon as though it were self evident that there was only one" was the reply. "We have two, Timor and Belior, that we refer to by name to differentiate them. Therefore Holmes lives – lived – elsewhere. The strange technologies described or mentioned in passing as normal refer not merely to a different, more advanced, age but to a different place."

"Argument sustained" T'lana pushed back the weaving from the five short sticks onto the long yarns that were tied to each, packing each row tightly against her earlier work and shifting it all a little further down the yarn. "Can you extrapolate enough between the incomprehensible bits to make it useful?"

H'llon nodded.

"The main thing is that human nature doesn't change. For example, the story 'The Red Headed League'; the idea of someone giving profitable make-work to another just because of the shade of his hair is quite laughable: but not to a gullible man sensitive about his unusual colouring. The criminal in the story relies on that reverse pride and gullibility to keep this man out of his own cothold whilst he, the criminal, uses it to dig into what appears to be the main storehouse for marks and valuables for the community. Incidentally, another clue to this place not being Pern is that there is no reference at all to Thread: and even allowing for it being in an interval there is no mention of dragons or weyrs. The worst natural hazard I have found mentioned is a form of choking fog that appears to be tainted; it may be near a hot spring, perhaps, that gives off sulphurous fumes. But even commons can travel in conveyances that go at sixty miles an hour, if you an credit that!"

"Fascinating" said T'lana. "I'm glad you're able to learn from it; those of us with red hair may have taken a bit of teasing when we were young, but we ARE smug about our distinctiveness."

"Oh I can learn a great deal. I gain the impression that Holmes was, like us, a pioneer of his craft. He calls it 'detection' and himself a 'detective'."

"That was then. The word 'detect' is a little imprecise, it suggests merely discovering. We apply logic to our problems so Logicators we are and shall duly stay" said T'lana firmly. "Does Holmes use Boolean charts and statistical studies?"

H'llon shook his head.

"No. He uses observation and a personal understanding of how people think and act. He seems to be a genius, but with less method than you have taught us to apply, and with less willingness to get the views of experts in a particular field."

"Heh, he sounds a bit full of gas and ash" said T'lana. "Still, if he was a pioneer I suppose he had to be a bit of a blowhard to be taken seriously if he didn't have so fine a Weyrleader behind him as we have. Well, with his examples and our tables we can even improve upon what the ancients had – providing we're always ready to learn new things."

The conversation was interrupted by the sudden eerie noise of hundreds of keening dragons!

The logicators looked at each other, shocked as always by the terrible sound that marked the unnatural passing of a dragon.

_**"WHO?"**_ T'lana demanded of Mirrith.

_"Tanumeth. His rider was killed deliberately"_ the little Queen was indignant. T'lana leaped to her feet, eyes sparking with anger.

"B'red has been murdered!" she declared, remembering with difficulty Tanumeth's rider's name. The Green Rider was one of the Oldtimers who had elected to stay at High Reaches under T'bor's leadership. He was almost fanatical about honour to make up for the ill deeds of his erstwhile colleagues.

T'bor and Pilgra precipitated out of their respective weyrs; and seeing the logicators where they had been lounging about in the thin Spring sunshine, the Weyrleaders altered course towards them, Pilgra almost bouncing up and down with rage.

T'lana held up a placatory hand.

"We'll do our best, T'bor" she answered the question before it was spoken. "I'll need to know where he was, what he was doing. Then we'll be on our way." T'bor nodded, calming down.

"He was at Three Rivers Hold, south of Nabol. It's at a confluence of rivers that run down the Esvay Valley. It's a major trade route. He told me last time he was on Search that he'd seen something that needed checking out. He went to see."

"Did he give any indication what it was?"

T'bor shook his head and spread his hands helplessly. T'lana tutted.

"Drat these stiff necked types that don't share information before getting themselves into hot water!" she declared.

"Naming no names" said Pilgra "But I recall a weyrlings borrowing an unconscious man's dragon with the best of motives and not telling anyone…"

T'lana had the grace to blush; and T'bor managed a laugh.

"Gave me several grey hairs that did" he said. "Well, I'll leave t to you; I've much faith in our logicators."

"Thank you sir" said T'lana seriously and with unwonted formality. "We all appreciate that so very much!"

oOoOo

Holder Priarish was flattered to be visited by a Queenrider; but he was by no means a stupid man, and noticed the martial light in T'lana's eyes before he started mouthing platitudes. Instead he asked,

"What can I do for you, Weyrwoman?"

T'lana looked on him with more approval than first impressions of his appearance would indicate; for he was somewhat overweight and appeared to lead an indolent lifestyle. The eyes that met hers were, however, quit shrewd and intelligent; and she decided to be forthright.

"Holder Priarish, if you don't mind plain speaking, I'll be blunt. A dragonrider has been murdered. His last known location was here."

"Murdered? Are you sure? How do you know?"

The staccato questions came from a man who wanted to know, and was used to being told what he wanted when he asked for it. He was not, T'lana felt sure, trying to shift blame by throwing doubt on her knowledge.

"His dragon communicated this in her grief immediately before she went _Between_ for all time" explained T'lana. "Dragons always know when one of their number die – and the rough circumstances. The weyr to which they are attached keens, and in a great tragedy, like the death of the Queens Prideth and Wirenth, all the dragons on Pern keen. A death by old age is mourned usually only by its clutch mates or any others that felt close to him or her, say if the dragon had been a Bronze or Brown Wingleader's mount." She felt it important to explain, for so many were ignorant about dragons; and a man who truly wanted to know was to be cultivated!

"I see" Priarish chewed his lip. "If a dragonman has been killed in my Hold I feel great shame for such an act. Obviously the best thing to do is to give you a free hand – you know your man better than I. There was a Green Rider who came in to land, but I have not spoken to him; he did not approach the Hold nor seek me out so I assumed he had private business and did not pry. As Threadfall is expected, I thought it might be about that; one of my groundcrews has been rather perfunctory lately, and I thought he might have noticed and gone to check out their area."

"Indeed? That's interesting. I don't know, of course, if he intended speaking to you or not; I'm under the impression he saw something rather irregular and came to investigate more fully. I'm sure if it had been necessary he would have delivered a full report to you before reporting to T'bor: B'red was a most punctilious man."

Priarish looked puzzled.

"I wonder what he could have seen?" he said, then sighed. "Well, Weyrwoman, do whatever you want – my Hold is at your disposal" he waved a languid hand to indicate all his Hold.

"Thank You" said T'lana.

T'lana took Mirrith high above the Hold, not certain what she was looking for through the miserable drizzle that penetrated clothing without being enough to drown the imminent Threadfall. She hunkered down into her wherhide jacket and reflected that if B'red had seen anything irregular it almost had to have been from topsides. A patch of colour caught her eye; the colour was surrounded by the green of vegetation. T'lana took Mirrith down. There was just about enough room to land at the side of a big hop field; and T'lana realised immediately that the patch of colour was entirely hidden at ground level. She traversed the perimeter, and searched for a way in.

It was cleverly hidden and has staggered to hide anything from a casual passer by.

Covering the ground inside the hop fence was a low shrub. The leaves resembled fellis and so did the flowers in shape, but they were a deep rich pink not the usual yellow, and the shape of the plant was subtly different. T'lana was no farmcrafter; her foster father had raised mainly stock, and she had done no more than tend to their little subsistence vegetable patch and help harvest oats and hay for fodder. She took the layman's course and smelled the flower.

Definitely it was a form of fellis; and stronger smelling. This brought back for T'lana the spectre of Wenner and his evil hallucinogenic brew. And as to the groundcrew shirking duty – were they under the influence of something similar? Or were they instead protecting this secret field rather than the proper crops?

T'lana returned to the Hold.

"Threadfall is due in just two hours – leading edge where we pick it up, west of here, that is" she hastily explained as Priarish looked puzzled, not expecting it for longer "- I'll need to be back. But first I'd like a quick word with this inadequate groundcrew of yours. They may be diverting their efforts onto a most unauthorised crop; and I'll explain that later, but I'm not fully sure of all my facts and I hesitate to speculate too far."

Priarish swallowed his impatience and curiosity and nodded.

It took nearly half an hour for the crew to turn up; three men.

"Where's Leko?" asked Priarish sharply.

The men looked at each other. One of them spoke out.

"Look, it's obvious the game is up. Leko said he saw the Weyrwoman round his precious crop, and it was him as killed the other dragonman. There's plenty will tell you that. Reckoned a Green Rider's not be missed. He reckoned wrong. He's gone on the run."

"What 'precious crop' is that, Shiffey?" asked Holder Priarish.

T'lana answered for him.

"The one he has confirmed as being the reason for their laxity; not as I wondered being under the influence of its hallucinogenic effects. It's a variant of fellis and it's stronger. Right, Shiffey?"

"I dunno how you dragonfolk know these things" he said sullenly. "Nothin' to do with us. Leko made us protect his fardling fellis when we should of bin sweepin' elsewhere."

T'lana noted a change in speech patterns; she had thought the man's first speech had sounded rehearsed.

"If you are hiding this Leko, you will be taken to be as guilty as him" she warned the three grimly.

Shiffey raised his eyebrows in apparent surprise.

"Oh NO, Weyrwoman, not after he's killed a dragonman. We'd not do that, would we mates?"

"No, of course not!" chorused the other two. T'lana frowned.

"Well I shall be back to search for him after Threadfall – and I hope you're telling the truth" her voice seemed to come from _Between_.

Shiffey and his cronies were waiting for T'lana when she landed, still grimed from fighting Thread. The drizzle had increased enough to reduce Fall and casualties had been light so R'gar came with her. Shiffey gave the grim looking one-eyed Bronze Rider an uncertain look; T'lana wondered whether he thought R'gar harder to put something over than 'just a girl' as he doubtless saw her! Shiffey started speaking nervously and rapidly as the dragonfolk approached.

"We found Leko, Weyrwoman. He's dead."

"Dead?" T'lana raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, Lady. He must of forgot about Fall; he done hid in his field. Well, o'course we didn't sweep it; he got caught out in Fall."

"Show me."

The corpse was charred, blackened. T'lana rounded on Shiffey and glared at him.

"We hadda burn the stuff off, see?" he gave excuse. "Stop it spreading. You know."

"Hasn't hit the fellis much" commented R'gar cynically.

"Who can tell with Thread?" shrugged Shiffey with an assumption of nonchalance.

T'lana knelt by the corpse and began examining it minutely, rolling it over to check the underside too.

"This man had short brown hair and pale skin that freckled" she said looking at the back of his head and neck. She rolled him back. "He died as a result of a blow to the side of the head, the temple is crushed, I can feel it under the superficial charring. His teeth are quite worn, he has several missing. Hands are too burned to make much out from them. Help me take off his breeches, R'gar"

She examined the lower limbs carefully and pushed up the tunic to examine the chest.

"He was well developed and fit, probably did a lot of walking. He's barrel chested; may have fancied himself as a singer. He had joint-ail in his left knee – see how swollen it is in this wet weather – and if you check the calluses on the side of that foot, he had probably been limping for more than a full turn. Don't you three go anywhere" she added as they began a stealthy retreat. Mirrith's head appeared over the hops as an effective argument to their continued presence.

Back in the Hold T'lana repeated her description of the corpse to Holder Priarish.

"That sounds like the trader – Porraig his name is. He's Ruathan" said the Holder.

"He'd almost have to be with a handle like that" grinned T'lana. "Please place orders to have this Porraig brought to you" she said. The Holder stared.

"But you said he's dead!"

"Indeed he is. But if you give the order you might be surprised at how well rascals can make the dead to live" she said.

The Holder shrugged; and did as he was bid.

Presently his men brought a man before him, dressed in a floppy hat, and protesting in broad, almost exaggerated, Ruathan brogue about ill treatment.

T'lana whipped off the hat.

"Would this be Leko?" she asked.

Priarish could hardly believe his eyes.

"Yes indeed" he said. "This is Leko."

"He knew that I knew about the fellis – and he had already killed B'red because he knew, erroneously supposing that it would be some time before anyone found out, by which time the trail would be cold. Unfortunately for Leko, others saw him kill B'red if his friends are to be believed; and more to the point, I turned up quicker than he would have expected. But he thought fast this precious villain of yours; if it were thought that he was dead and his friends unwilling accomplices, then it would be unlikely that we would jeopardise Weyr-Hold relationships by making too much issue. So he decided to swop identities with the unfortunate Porraig, who was about his build. With the excuse of burning off Thread, the corpse was rendered unrecognisable to a casual glance. But I don't glance casually" she glowered at Leko. "B'red wasn't a particular friend of mine; but he was a man of punctilious honour and rectitude and doubtless got himself killed in his careful wish not to accuse you of anything until he had confronted you. And you, my lad, and your friends, who are as guilty as you through association, can regret killing two innocent men for the rest of your miserable lives on the Eastern Isles. Where, for the killing of a dragonman, we are entitled to take you" she turned to Priarish as the man Leko cried out in horror. "Holder Priarish, I should search the baggage of this supposed trader. Any bottles purporting to be wine may be this evil brew from tainted fellis. I would also advise that Healers and Farmcrafters examine and test this new variant. It might have properties that render it useful as a herb if under correct usage. If so, it may prove a source of wealth to your Hold."

Holder Priarish nodded meekly. It seemed the easiest thing to do to obey the furious little Weyrwoman. And the dragonfolk DID have the entitlement; and he was grateful that in their anger they considered the financial well being of his Hold.

R'gar took the men, bound, to the Eastern Isles. It was no place, he said, for a woman to go, even just visiting.

He was surprised at T'lana's meek compliance.

She liked to do that sometimes to keep him off balance!


	5. Chapter 5

**5 The Curious Incident of the Watchwher in the night**

T'lana returned from Three Rivers Hold and promptly bolted for the Necessary. R'gar came in to find her retching; and knelt down beside her with a comforting arm around her shoulders.

"I thought you'd seen more revolting things than that without flinching" he said, puzzled. The burned corpse had not been pleasant, but T'lana had shown no reaction at the time, past mild distaste. His weyrmate shook her head and washed her mouth before speaking.

"Not that. Trip _Between._ I'll have to be careful – if I haven't already been too careless."

R'gar blinked.

"You mean….?"

She nodded.

"I've been a little careless with the herbs…I thought I'd be sterile by this time. But I seem to get lucky and have warning not a full miscarriage. Probably because I go _Between_ so often I catch it on the edge of being viable so I'm not exactly pregnant but it's getting settled in or something. And we flew Straight to Threadfall… I really thought I'd be sterile!" she said again.

"Apparently not" R'gar grinned broadly.

"Soppy creature" admonished T'lana, lovingly. "Aren't four of your own and four fosterlings enough for you?"

"Probably; but the manifestations of our shared love are still nice" said R'gar, stroking her belly gently.

"Ah, well, better go break it to Pilgra" said T'lana. At least I know she'll not suggest I take it _Between_. Being sterile herself makes her more sympathetic."

The up side of being pregnant meant that, as T'lana could not go _Between_ to fight Thread she had more time to spare for her fosterlings.

Sagarra was the undisputed leader of the little girls. Her vivacity marked her out as a natural leader, though Serelis' common sense sometimes prevailed: and Siriwenne refused to be led into doing something she did not want to, for all that she was several turns younger than the other two. She was a solitary child, but apart from occasional outbursts had settled down in an atmosphere of calm and love. As Sagarra and Serelis had already formed a close pact, Sagarra's half brother Marag attached himself to the new little fosterling only a turn older than himself. Siriwenne was less than enthusiastic at first, but the admiration of a younger child did make her open up somewhat!

It had been R'cal who had pointed out first that all the little girls had names that began with 'S'; which led to T'rin falling about laughing and claiming foster brother's right to call them Shaggy, Shorty and Stormy. They acted as one to swarm on him and pummel him firmly, for Siriwenne was beginning to learn that play fighting was no violence! T'rin did have to intervene when Kullana, his unofficial apprentice, joined the fight; Kullana had trouble playing gently and took slights to her favourite journeyman too seriously, and had headbutted Sagarra, winding the older child! Sagarra, being Sagarra, was impressed by Kullana's spirited defence of T'rin and promptly offered the child alliance. Sagarra had looked after Kullana and Takula when they had first come to the Weyr, but until recently the half sisters had found each other's company sufficient and had drifted away. Kullana promptly dragged the younger Harper apprentices into the alliance, the brothers Garald and Garvan, and young Lyseder as well as her own sister Kulana. It was all rather overwhelming for the shy and damaged Siriwenne, who had never been surrounded by so many children of her own sort of age in her life; but she liked Takula and Kullana. They were as monosyllabic as she, and knew what it was to be beaten. They understood each other.

T'lana was surrounded by children engaged in bathing Mirrith – with the enthusiastic help of firelizards, T'lana's own gold Merry and Sagarra's brown and bue, Puddle and Sky – when a Green dragon came in to land carrying a passenger. The passenger was a well dressed woman who paused to stare at T'lana's little family; and turned away with a sob. The rider with her put a comforting hand on her arm – he was an ageing rider, slowing down to the point that he was safer on other duties than fighting Thread – and showed her towards the Weyrleader's quarters. T'lana firmly curbed her curiosity to finish bathing and oiling Mirrith. It was one of the few things that made Siriwenne animated; the child plainly adored dragons. When the little girl chuckled at Mirrith's laconic comment that Orth would have to wait on her comfort, T'lana asked,

"Do you hear all dragons, Siriwenne?"

Siriwenne looked defensive.

"What if I do?" she asked.

T'lana grinned.

"Then we make sure none of the other Weyrs tries to persuade you to live with them because you're far too valuable to us!" she said, hugging Siriwenne. "You're valuable to us anyway, but hearing dragons is a bonus. I hear dragons, and Pilgra had forty fits that I'd kept quiet about it. It's a gift – and it can help to reduce casualties."

"So I wouldn't be in trouble?"

"Quite the reverse. But it's a good idea to learn how not to listen too; for one thing, you'll find mating flights uncomfortable at your age; for another it's sometimes impolite to listen; and for a third it can sometimes be a little irritating hearing all the chatter all the time. Yes, tell Orth I'm coming, Mirrith, and ask Zith to get Z'linda to come too. It's more polite to go through your dragon to other people's dragons" she explained to Siriwenne "When you have time not to take short cuts."

"I can close off" said Siriwenne. "I DID find it a bit loud at times if I didn't."

"Then that's good. I'll start teaching you patterns so you can help directing" smiled T'lana as she headed for the Weyrleader's weyr. It would be good for Siriwenne to feel useful!

Z'linda met her cousin on the steps to the Weyrleader's office and both young women went in. T'bor looked slightly askance at the presence of the Queenrider's cousin and T'lana made quick explanation.

"Z'linda's still – just – in her middle trimester. I can't go _Between_ remember? I'll need a pair of eyes and a good brain on the spot."

"Crackdust!" swore T'bor. "It's close enough for Straight flight though" he suggested. "I know you get bored when you're grounded, T'lan."

"Cunning so-and-so, isn't he?" T'lana remarked to her cousin. "Knows how to tweak my strings."

"That's why he's Weyrleader" commented Z'linda. "You'll need a messenger anyway, and Zith has excellent _Between_ sense."

"Double trouble, T'bor" said T'lana "Two cousins, twice as nice."

"Perhaps it's as well to have both of you" the Weyrleader admitted. "This lady is Lady Libethra of Pars, and her daughter has been kidnapped."

The Lady Libethra was quite young; and handsome rather than pretty, with a determined chin and decided nose in her oval face, framed by neat dark blonde hair. Had her nose been any larger, or anything but straight, it would have been a defect; as it was it was a feature of distinction that loaned more character than detraction.

"Bellanda has told me all about you" Lady Libethra said. "And I know you could help me. My little Tefanny has been kidnapped and a message left demanding four THOUSAND marks, or they-they'll kill her!" she broke down sobbing.

"That's a whole lot of marks to have to find!" T'lana was shocked "It's iniquitous! And also to pay sets a bad precedent….nobody's child would be safe that has two marks to rub together if this got about. This is serious. I think we might need H'llon in on this in case there's any strong arm stuff" she used her gift of telepathy to think directly at the young Bronze Rider, who was immune to taking offence over breaches of protocol; and filled him in. "What action has your husband taken so far?" she asked the lady.

Libethra shrugged helplessly.

"He's shouting a lot and blaming everyone" she said. "He's sent Teffer – my stepson – riding out, looking for signs, but I don't see what good that will do. Teffer's not what you might call very effective at the best of times."

"In what respect?" asked Z'linda.

Libethra's eyes snapped dark blue angry fire.

"He's a lazy lump!" she declared. "Fond of being a Holder's son and all that brings. I doubt he'll exert much effort on Tefanny's behalf, for he's never liked her. Nor me, for that matter."

H'llon entered the office, having been kept up to date by T'lana's running commentary as he came.

"When was your child taken?" he asked.

Libethra was startled at the question asked behind her in the young Weyrwoodcrafter's deep voice, but answered readily enough.

"She was taken from her bed during the night."

H'llon frowned.

"And nobody heard anything or wakened? Do you not have a watchwher?"

"Yes of course we do. But no-one woke up, there was no disturbance, they took her very quietly."

"Well" said H'llon "If I may paraphrase the great Holmes, I draw your attention to the curious incident of the watchwher in the night."

"But the watchwher did nothing" said Libethra, confused.

"And that is the curious incident" declared H'llon.

"What he's saying is" said T'lana "If anyone came in from without your Hold, they had to have been well known to the watchwher or it would have sounded an alarm. Or it was someone from within. And even then, it should have made some noise at a child being taken away, doubtless unwillingly. Does Teffer have any expensive habits? Beyond what his allowance as son and heir would cover?"

"Yes, he gambles on races. Tefan has shouted at him more than once about it when Teffer has asked him to cover his debts. Last time he said he need not ask any more, because it's time he learned to live within his means. Though I wonder if he means it" she shrugged "My husband is not the strongest character. What has that to do with my daughter's kidnapping, if you please, Weyrwoman?"

"Heh" said T'lana "We can solve this without even going to Pars. Do you have any old passageways no longer in use?"

Libethra blinked.

"Why – yes we do. How did you know?"

"An expensive young man resents his half sister. He needs money; his father has told him he'll meet no more of his debts. Four thousand marks will buy off a lot of debt. And it's four thousand reasons for Teffer to have done this himself. I think you'll find that Tefanny never left your Hold at all. Otherwise the watchwher will have raised the alarm. She's incarcerated in some old passage or room long since abandoned and far enough away for nobody to hear her call out."

Libethra stared, open mouthed.

"If Teffer has done this, Tefan had better banish the little good-for-nothing, or Tefanny and I are leaving! And if he's hurt her….." she tailed off on a sob.

"It's as well to confirm what's happened first" said T'lana. "I might be wrong; though I doubt it, and H'llon is nodding that his thoughts tally with mine. H'llon lad, take Lady Libethra home and you and Z'linda go ferret about the back caverns of the place."

H'llon reported back later.

"You were quite right" he said. "The child Tefanny was shut in a disused storeroom, scared and unhappy, poor babe. And her younger by a good four turns than my little sister Kisra! Z'linda wouldn't let me wring Teffer's neck" he added regretfully "And all that idiot father of his could do was wring his hands and say 'oh dear' over and over. The Lady Libethra's not short of invective though" he grinned "And she expressed her opinion of her stepson AND her wingless wherry of a husband with a degree of articulation our T'rin would have loved. I tried to memorise it all to tell him" he grinned. "Anyway, she begged a lift from me for herself and her daughter to High Reaches Hold to lay the whole before Lord Bargen since her husband seemed inclined to say that as all was ended well and little Teffie was safe, nothing more needed to be said."

"Oh WHAT?" cried T'lana. "Let off someone who has threatened to kill a child? What's he made of, crackdust to blow in the wind?"

H'llon shrugged.

"Something like that" he said. "Lady Libethra wants a divorce, and I can't say I blame her, and so I told Lord Bargen when I made deposition to him. He's sending someone out to Pars to bring in Teffer, for Tefan didn't seem to think it appropriate to drag the little snot bound before his overlord for what he described as 'a joke, surely, that got out of proportion.' And I'm sorry, but where I come from grown men do not play such jokes as to terrorise their little sisters and threaten their life. And I told Lord Bargen that too."

T'lana hid a grin at the thought of H'llon at his most pompous being outraged at the long suffering Bargen.

"I'm sure he was glad of you giving him a precise report" she said.

"He did thank me" said H'llon "And I offered to take him personally; but he said that a team with burros to drag the little gas-spurt over hill and dale would be more salutary. I confess I saw his point."

T'lana grinned. Bargen was very good at handling H'llon.

"Did he give any indication of what he meant to do?" she asked.

"Well, he was talking about Teffer scrubbing necessaries for forty thousand days, which I shouldn't think anyone ought to live so long to fulfil; and he was seriously thinking of deposing Tefan outright for being so useless and encouraging such criminal behaviour" said H'llon. "I approve of that; the man is an idiot."

"Did you tell Lord Bargen so?" asked T'lana, innocently.

"Oh no! That would have been tactless!" said H'llon, seriously.

"Well, T'lan" said T'bor, later "That's certainly a boost to the reputation of the logicators of High Reaches – to solve a mystery of a kidnapping without even stirring from the Weyr!"


	6. Chapter 6

_And thanks, CurlyGirl242 for a vote of confidence in me! Also to everyone who reads and those who review; thought it was about time for some public appreciation to Queen of the Jungle, Logitech Mouse, Tripod 762, GinnyStar, Divergary, Dramoskye and Clio 1792 to pick the most recent reviewers and to everyone else who's reviewed too, my thanks! It makes me feel good to hear from you all that my writing pleases; which means I tend to write more. _

_THIS IS CALLED MORAL BLACKMAIL. But seriously, thanks!  
_

**6 True Colours**

It was Geriana and her boys who next had the opportunity to show the skill of the High Reaches Logicators.

Drum messages had been passed over time concerning the marriage of a young Lord Eveny, a grandson of Lord Nessel of Crom, to his lady love Varilka. The Lady Varilka, being artistically inclined, was to be treated to a new Hold more beautiful – the messages demanded – than any other. Artists and craftsmen from across Pern were summoned at the behest of Lord Eveny, for the young man was wealthy in his own right, having apprenticed as a trader, made Journeyman and arranged many excellent deals for his grandfather and on his own behalf.

Geriana was curious; and she pointed out to T'bor that if a new Hold was to be built, it stood to reason that new visualisations would be required.

T'bor listened and nodded seriously.

"Geri" he said, using the shortening coined by the dragons for the popular artist "Why not just say that you want to be nosy and explain that you can produce a reasonable excuse too?"

Geriana grinned.

"Isn't there something almost immoral in telling the pure unvarnished truth to one's leaders?" she asked.

T'bor shook his head and laughed.

"Well, you've brought me a good official reason, you nosy little squab. And of course you want your gang of reprobate lovers too to help you take measurements and angles I suppose?"

She opened her eyes wide in a parody of innocent surprise.

"Of COURSE Weyrleader!"

"Don't take too long" he admonished. "There's a long Fall due in three days over Tillek and S'net and S'negen form a vital part of the new Protective Wing."

"Sir, they never shirk their duties!" Geri explained earnestly.

"I know that. Now get along and start interfere…er, drawing!"

The Hold was elaborate; that was certainly an adjective that could be used without fear of contradiction. Carvings covered the stonework outside, crawling over every surface without any regard for juxtaposition of style or taste.

B'kas eyed it dubiously.

"Ummm" he said.

"Tactful way of putting it" said S'negen.

"Uh-huh" agreed S'net.

"Maybe it's better inside" said Geriana without much hope in her voice. "There's supposed to be a big picture of the happy couple by Rhaghe – and he IS a great artist!"

"Chances are it'll be spoiled by being surrounded by too decorative a framing" said B'kas, gloomily. "But you're right; he is a great artist and a great colourman. My Master before I Impressed knew him well – and there were colours that Rhaghe uses that HE couldn't make."

As B'kas had trained more as a colourman than an artist, Geriana was impressed!

They had chosen to come on the open day immediately following the wedding; for the supposedly splendid hall was to be displayed to all and sundry, and there was free access to almost every part of the Hold to wonder at its decoration. Geriana thought, rather cynically, that the kitchens and areas used as living by lower cavern workers were unlikely to have much if any decoration; and at that they might be better to have a visual famine than the potential for visual indigestion from excess.

Geriana's worst fears were realises over most of the Hold. Every available surface was carved, painted, inlaid or covered with tapestries and woven, painted or embroidered hangings. Each piece on its own was beautiful; and deserved to be the centrepiece in a room on its own. But the table with marquetry patterns surrounding a skilfully executed picture of a flight of dragons was too close to the carven screen whose panels were rich brocades patterned with a variety of flowers, embellished too with extra embroidery; and next to that a floor harp covered with carvings of sinuous fire lizards chasing each other over the instrument; and it was too much, for each piece detracted from the next for taking the attention from it.

"It – it's like….." started B'kas

"Like eating wherry gravy on bubbly pies" supplied S'negen, a noted trencherman for all his skinniness.

There was a tinkling but melancholy laugh behind them; and they swung round. A lovely young woman stood by a hanging covering a door from which she had just emerged. She was an ornament to any Hold regardless of her setting with magnolia skin, rich skeins of lustrous black hair and big dark blue eyes in her regular heart shaped face. Her smile, if a little rueful, lit her face. The rich brocade of her gown was a rich pattern of stylised fellis flowers in yellow and green on a blue ground with real gold thread edging everything and forming a fine lattice between the flowers; she was undoubtedly someone important, even though she wore no knots at this time. It looked a hot dress to wear early in the summer, though the temperature within the Hold was temperate enough. She said,

"Indeed, Riders, it is a good description. But be kind, for my dear husband meant well by gifting it to me."

"Lady Varilka!" Geriana gained her voice first. "There are many beautiful things here!"

"Aren't there just? I see by your knots you are from High Reaches Weyr, considered skilled: and from your charcoal stick behind your ear and the book of leaves I take you to be an artist."

Geriana nodded.

"Yes, My Lady, my main job is to draw visualisation – a new Hold called for new pictures" she displayed her sketchbook to Lady Varilka, who looked impressed.

"These are very good, I can see why the Weyr is keen to hold on to you! And of course you take a professional interest in the artistic treasures here too – I am sorry that you have only seen them less than ideally displayed. But we are small yet as Holds go, and when we expand these lovely things can be spread out to give each the emphasis it deserves. But I do beg you, do not tell my husband that there is anything infelicitous in his display, for he has taken so much pleasure in collecting everything and cramming it in for my delectation!"

B'kas smiled his gentle smile.

"You love him very much, Lady."

"I do. As I see that you are all intimate. No, do not shuffle, I beg you; I think it quite lovely, if not to the common mould."

Impulsively Geriana took Varilka's hands.

"You are so nice!" she said.

Varilka smiled.

"And also sometimes lonely for the company of one who understands" she confessed. "You are a better artist than I; but I am at least able enough to appreciate your abilities! Tell me, would it be inappropriate of me to ask if you – and obviously I include your lovers – would visit at times? My husband is not comfortable with me seeking friendships with craftsmen, he is afraid poor dear of encouraging presumption; but he cannot take umbrage at friendship with weyrfolk!"

"We'd love to!" declared Geriana. Something about Varilka made the artist warm to the young woman. "T'bor is very tolerant of our flittings."

"I don't know T'bor" said Varilka "But I suppose he sets the tone for the Weyr; I thought you were unusually friendly for Weyrfolk."

S'net and S'negen exchanged glances, and Varilka flushed slightly.

"Oh dear, I've spoken out of turn" she said ruefully.

S'negen looked fixedly at a point on the ceiling, itself over decorated with flights of weesweets painted on a plaster base between the heavily carven stone fan vaulting.

"Weyrleaders never ARGUE" he said dreamily "But sometimes they don't always agree."

Varilka personally showed the four lovers around her new home, finishing the tour in front of the veiled portrait.

"It will be unveiled shortly, in the presence of selected visitors and the craftsmen. That's two woodcarvers, seven masons, three weavers, four embroiderers and four artists including Rhaghe. Together with their assorted apprentices, we have enough people to emulate Fax and go raiding" she said with black humour. "All of them with fragile egos in need of constant soothing. You'll stay for the unveiling, will you, as my guests, not just file past later like the rest of the visitors?"

"We'd be honoured and delighted" said S'negen, speaking for all of them and the others nodded to back his words.

People began to assemble for the unveiling; the happy couple's nearest relatives, a small group of Dragonriders from Telgar Weyr, Harpers, other local small Holders, including the Holder of the prosperous Greenfields Hold; and the craftsmen. The Riders from Telgar Weyr looked askance at the High Reaches group; and B'kas waved cheerily across the room as though nothing were amiss. Seeing a Blue Rider eye him appraisingly, S'net put a proprietary arm around B'kas' shoulders; and S'negen did likewise to Geriana. In public they played two couples, for it saved tedious explanations.

The only person who seemed to be missing from the assembled notables was the artist Rhaghe himself; and young Lord Eveny was becoming impatient, tapping his foot and pursing his lips. Varilka put a soothing hand on his arm, and he stopped to smile down at her. It was plain to see that the love went both ways, and B'kas, ever emotional, surreptitiously wiped a tear from the corner of his eye.

Varilka spoke to a young man wearing the knots of an apprentice artist, the rainbow twist next to the plain white strand that for an artist meant out-and-about, since there was no main crafthall. The young man nodded and exited.

He was quickly back, as white in the face as the second strand of his knots, retching.

"He's dead!" he blurted out. "DEAD!"

There was a second's stunned silence; then a sudden hum of conversation, the words "quite old" and "heart attack" floating about. Geriana looked at the shocked face of the apprentice, and ran her eyes over him with an artist's keen observation. Then she motioned her people forward.

"Did your Master die of natural causes?" she asked the youth. Varilka looked at her sharply and shrewdly as the apprentice shook his head.

"B-blood!" he stuttered. "All covered in blood!"

"What-what-what?" Eveny tried to take charge. "Not Weyr business! No, not at all!"

Varilka held up a hand.

"These are friends of mine, my dear. Geriana, why did you ask him that?"

"He seemed abnormally shocked" said Geriana "And on his sleeve and palm is a fresh dark red smear which I took to be blood. It was not there when he left this hall."

The apprentice stared at his hand and started retching again; and bolted for the necessary.

"Sir" said S'negen politely "Will you lock the room wherein the artist lies? We have some small skill at unravelling mysteries – and you will want, I'm sure, to find out who is responsible. We do not look upon ourselves solely as Weyrfolk, but as logicators, able to uncover mysteries; and take our ability to do so as part of our oath as dragonfolk to serve in any capacity we may. Should you wish to avail yourself of our skill, we are at your disposal."

How good he is with words! Thought Geriana. S'net, strong and silent, S'negen so masterful and articulate, and dear sweet B'kas – who could have better lovers!

Lord Eveny nodded, wrath at apparent interference turned aside by S'negen's subtle flattery that they looked to him for orders.

"I will lock the door and take charge myself!" he decided, galvanised into action. "And with your good offices, Blue Rider, we shall soon get to the bottom of this!"

"What can you do?" Varilka asked as her husband went ahead to secure the artist's room.

"Maybe nothing" said Geriana "But perhaps if there has been foul play – as I think the apprentice believes – then we may find clues that will bring the culprit to book. Ah, apprentice. What is your name?" she asked the lad as he emerged, somewhat shaken, from the necessary. His hand and sleeve were wet where he had attempted to wash out the blood.

"I'm called Kellahan. Uh, Lady."

"Ruathan?" there was the faintest trace of accent.

"Yes. Oh please, what is to happen?"

"First" said Geriana "Tell us what you found when you went to look for Rhaghe."

The youth swallowed.

"I knocked. There are cots outside the main Hold caverns where we all stayed – each of us separately. I mean, I lived in the loft space, but I had a ladder down, and other apprentices each slept in with their Masters in the same way, but each had his own cot for sleeping and working. Rhaghe had his bedroom and studio below. No kitchen; we came into the main dining area to eat, and we've all been fed very well" he added, bowing to the Lady Varilka "By a huge team of cooks. A cot had been built just for cooking and eating, it's the big one in the middle. If there was Threadfall we either came over before it started and stayed in the communal room singing and telling stories, or we collected cold food for our masters if they wanted to work through Fall" he explained the background of the living arrangements, partly, Geriana thought, because it delayed the moment of describing what he had found. She nodded. The whole setup made sense; it was quicker to throw up cots for craftsmen than tunnel extra accommodation, and the unsightly temporary cots could be dismantled and the stones reused to build more carefully designed extensions at a later date.

Kellahan continued,

"I'm telling you this so you can see why I didn't and couldn't have known of Rhaghe's death earlier. I got up early and left by the outside stair so as not to disturb him; and when I had breakfasted I came straight here to check the curtain on the painting. Rhaghe was a stickler for detail" he added. "He didn't like to be called early unless he intended working. So – so I left without even calling out to him. When Lady Varilka sent me to find him, I thought I'd be in trouble for letting him oversleep; though I'd never known him sleep in that late" he swallowed nervously again, making his Adam's apple bob. "I went right in the studio and- and there he was" he turned green again " – lying on the floor by his work table with blood all sticky on top of his head. I – I went over to see if I could help him, and so help me First Egg, his eyes were staring – staring!" he swallowed, gulped and sobbed. Geriana patted him kindly on the shoulder.

"You're doing fine" she said. "Now come with us and we'll check he is still as you found him."

"Must I?" he whispered.

"I'm sorry; yes."

"Shells and shards!" he retched dry again; but obediently led the way.

Eveny stood, indecisive, at the door of the cot.

"Thank you, My Lord"

"Hmm. Technically not 'Lord' anymore" said Eveny, punctiliously. "Only a courtesy for my descent; strictly, now, I'm just 'Holder Eveny'."

"Hardly 'just'" said Geriana dryly. "since YOU have taken the decision to work hard and set up a new Hold, not just rely on your illustrious grandfather. And due respect for that."

Eveny looked pleased and a little smug; and Varilka smiled approval on her new friend!

"Sir, do you think you might ask your men to prevent anyone from leaving just yet?" asked S'negen.

Eveny looked starteled.

"Certainly – certainly. Well of course!" he laughed self consciously "Except the Weyrfolk of course."

S'negen and Geriana exchanged a look; and she shrugged.

"We'll know where to find them if we need them, I guess" she said. "Boys, you'd better ask Morvith, Dreth and Baynath to ascertain their dragons' names, just in case."

The Riders nodded.

"Surely you don't suspect…." Eveny was shocked.

"I don't SUSPECT anything" said Geriana "But the artistic community is high strung and jealous; and sometimes young men, even the best and brightest, will do foolish things for love – or lust. And his apprentice is a pretty boy and innocent enough not to notice if attention was taken of him; but Rhaghe might have seen and taken issue. He has a reputation as a bit irascible" she added.

Eveny looked horrified, but comprehending.

"HRM! Yes, well!" he said.

Geriana thought the young Holder promised to be pompous before he got much older; she hoped that his bride would be able to nip THAT in the bud!

The cot was neat and tidy, the artist's clutter ordered, at least to the eyes of another artist. The palette was neatly wiped, the rags carefully discarded in a pile, the smell of terebinth oil still on them. Cartoons for the painting drawn in charcoal on real paper were neatly stacked. Geriana resisted the temptation to browse through them. A locked box, presumably containing pigments, the most valuable part of a painter's gear, lay beside the cartoons and beside that a mortar. Out of place was that the pestle was missing from the mortar.

The one untidy note to the room was the body. It lay crumpled against the wall as though Rhaghe had staggered back and slid down it; that seemed a good theory. Kellahan gagged again, and Geriana could see why. The entire right temple of the Master Artist was stove in. On the floor under the desk Geriana thought she perceived the weapon.

The missing pestle bore testament to its last use, with blood, hair and bone fragments adhering to it. Geriana swung it a couple of times experimentally, causing cries of shock and outrage from Eveny and Kellahan both.

"Backhanded blow, I think" said Geriana, ignoring their outrage.

"Probably in anger?" suggested S'net.

"He – the killer" B'kas was pale "- Would have to be at least as tall as Rhaghe, I guess, to get the angle coming down like that."

Geriana nodded.

"The body is stiff almost all over" said S'negen, who had checked.

"So it happened sometime in the night or the early hours of the morning, then" said Geriana. "Lady Varilka,it were best when the corpse is taken away to have one who is accustomed to such things check how quickly the stiffness goes; if time becomes important that may help."

"How?" Varilka was curious, despite the horror of the situation.

"You know stiffness sometimes comes on quicker or slower than other times?" asked Geriana.

The Holder's Lady nodded. As with Weyrwomen, it was the duty of noblewomen to assist with their dependants' last journey. Geriana continued,

"It has been noted that if it comes on quickly, it goes off as fast; and conversely if the onset is delayed."

Varilka nodded again.

"I see. I shall make a note of the times myself" she said crisply.

Her husband gave an inarticulate little cry.

"My dear – it is bad enough that you should have come and witnessed this, I would wish to shield you from all ugliness! You should not…."

Varilka ran a loving hand down his face.

"Just because I am artistic does not mean that I am a shrinking flower like the Boxflower that hides its pretty petals from Thread in its box of sepals, my darling. And I owe this to Rhaghe for his splendid portrait. To kill an artist at the height of his powers is a crime against all people, not just him and his kin, for depriving them of the pleasure of his works. I will do whatever is necessary" she added grimly "To bring his killer to justice."

"If you are sure…."

"I am positive!"

Geriana asked Kellahan,

"Is all as you saw it before?"

He nodded.

"Yes….yes" he confirmed with another look about.

"When the body has been taken, I want you to search the room to find if anything has been moved or misplaced; anything that was not usually here, or anything missing, including any store of marks. This may be as simple as robbery. It is fortunate that Master Rhaghe was a very orderly man; any false note – like the missing pestle – will stand out to you."

Kellahan nodded nervously.

"What was he doing out of his bed at that hour, anyway?" queried S'net.

"Where's the necessary?" asked Geriana. Kellahan pointed to a door that stood beside the one that was open to display a sleeping room beyond; battens as rungs were nailed to the wooden internal wall between the doors up to a hatch that had to lead to the loft. In the sleeping room Geriana could see that the bedcovers were disarranged as though someone had flung them back to get out of bed.

"He could have needed to go. He's –he was – at an age where men often have to get up in the night" the girl shrugged. "It is a good question. And though the call of nature is the obvious answer, it might be that he got up to meet someone."

"But who? Why?" asked Kellahan.

"Any number of possibilities…a lover, maybe; or a trader carrying rare pigments that were come by less than honestly that he would not trade openly by day; someone who knew a secret to his detriment who demanded payment to keep silence of it; these I suggest off the top of my head."

Kellahan looked shocked.

"I cannot think my Master did anything so underhand!" he declared. "He is –he was, I can't get used to this – the soul of rectitude! I'd know, anyway, if he had a lover. As for the other suggestions, they are – they are quite wholly risible!"

"Nice turn of phrase that boy has" murmured S'negen to his brother. "With the use of words like 'rectitude' and 'risible' you'd almost think he was a Harper."

Kellahan flushed.

"I used to be a Harper, My Lord Dragonrider. I, um, got into trouble for drawing some, er, unflattering portraits and they came to light, and the Masters involved refused to have me in their classes any more. Fortunately for me, Master Rhaghe was at the Healer Hall at the time with a small problem and Master Robinton was kind enough to show him my sketches. He liked them; and I transferred apprenticeship."

"Ah, I see" S'negen's eyes twinkled. He could make a few guesses!

"It makes life easier" said Geriana. "As a Harper as well as an artist you're trained to observe – and you should be good at summing up too. So you can tell us if anyone here had any grudge against Rhaghe or disliked him for any reason."

Kellahan looked uncomfortable.

"You've said yourself that artists are, well, to put it bluntly, a temperamental set of people" he said "And Rhaghe was the best. He knew that. He was also a perfectionist and impatient with those that were not. It wasn't an attitude to court friendship."

"Are we talking just the artists here, or did he antagonise the other craftsmen too?" asked Geriana uncompromisingly.

Kellahan licked his lips.

"He – he didn't really come into contact with anyone else. Just the artists. I – I mean, he commented disparagingly on one of the marquetry scenes as being badly drawn to start with that spoiled the fine execution by the woodcrafter, but I don't think anyone heard him. It was late at night when he was measuring the space for the painting long since. If any woodcrafter had taken exception he would surely have taken him up on it before now. No, it's just the artists I'm sure."

"Very well" said Geriana. "Tell me about them; and their apprentices, if they have any.

Kellahan nodded.

"Very well, I'll try. First off there's Niran. He's about the same age as Rhaghe but not nearly so good. He resents that, I guess. He drinks because he can't hack it."

"I thought his work very pretty!" objected Holder Eveny.

"Yes Sir" said the apprentice woodenly. "Niran can do pretty very well. His work is a collection of tricks and techniques that look well enough if you don't know, er, what he's doing" he finished lamely to avoid giving offence to the Holder by using the word 'better' in implied criticism of his employer!

Geriana nodded.

"Did he do that portrait of the Lady Gemma for Fax, that hangs in High Reaches Hold?" she asked.

Kellahan nodded.

"I believe so."

Geriana put her fingertips together and looked thoughtful.

"A pretty piece….but as you say, techniques hung together, no real life or depth. A fine decorator."

Kellahan nodded eagerly.

"That's it exactly. And Holder Eveny had him doing just that – pretty panels."

Eveny looked uncomfortable.

"My dear wife suggested he would make an excellent job of it" he said.

How wise the Lady Varilka was and how well she handled her husband, Geriana thought!

Kellahan went on,

"Niran has two apprentices. Pritara is the oldest. She's an indifferent artist, but I don't think that's why he keeps her around" he looked uncomfortable. "She also acts as his model. That way he can do portraits without his female subjects having to sit for more than a likeness, Pritara can wear their chosen gown and he can do the way it drapes on her. She's quite slender and he, er, pads her up appropriately to fit them. It makes him popular."

"I can see why" Eveny grunted. Sitting for the demanding Rhaghe had been uncomfortable and trying!

"The other apprentice" went on Kellahan "Is just a boy. Boral, his name is. He's just ten turns. Niran doesn't often keep apprentices long – not if they display more talent than him. He throws a temperament and terminates their apprenticeship."

"So he's liable to temper, then?" asked Geriana intently.

"Oh indeed! Judging by the kid's bruises, he's got a wicked way with his fists. Hey, you're suggesting…"

"I suggest nothing yet. Just ascertaining facts" said Geriana firmly. "Go on about the other artists."

Kellahan nodded.

"Anil is from Lemos; he started in woodcarving, but preferred an artists apprenticeship to woodcrafter. He does some wood statuettes and relief work. He's tall and quite good looking in a rugged sort of way; women go for him. He has a female apprentice cum model too, Elnara. She poses naked for him. He makes a few marks on the side selling…..shall we say, salacious pictures. Pays loving wenches to pose for him too. I suspect he makes more from those pictures than from legitimate contracts."

"I see what you mean, brother, about his turn of phrase" said S'net, appreciatively. "Salacious. I like it."

"Yes, Blue Rider. So do his clients" said Kellahan dryly.

Eveny was making shocked, strangled noises; and Varilka laid a hand on his arm.

"Confine your remarks to the relevant, apprentice" she reproved. Kellahan flushed to the eartips.

"Sorry to offend, Ma'am. It – it's background. See, I'd expect a quarrel between Niran and Anil; because Anil has been looking come-hither at Niran's apprentice Pritara. And she's been looking back."

"Which may not be relevant; but then again it might" said Geriana. "If Rhaghe were such a, er, model of rectitude, he might have reproved any one of those parties for acting unprofessionally, leading to a loss of temper and the snatching up of a makeshift weapon."

"Middle of the night" reminded S'net laconically.

"True. But let us, er, 'be led docilely by the facts' as H'llon would say; and gather all those facts in."

Drudges came in at that moment to take the body for laying out; and the Lady Varilka checked its state before permitting them to remove it.

"Little change" she reported.

Geriana nodded.

"Looks like it might be slowish on, slowish off. Kellahan, we'll finish your description of the artists as there's only one more if I recall correctly, before you go ferreting after discrepancies."

Kellahan nodded.

"I'd like to add that Anil is a better artist than he looks – but the thing is he's a poor colourman. He was always on at Rhaghe to pass on some secrets. Tried to charm them out of him. But Rhaghe was no more charmable than charming."

Geriana quirked an eyebrow.

"Sounds like your master wasn't that popular with you either" she commented. Kellahan gave a brief ejaculation of fear.

"You don't think – no, it's not like that! Sure, he shouted at me, anyone will tell you that – but he liked his apprentices to shout back and hold opinions. And I learned so much from him! Sure, he could be an irascible old so-and-so, but jays, 'tis kind he was too in his own way!" his native Ruathan brogue became thicker with panic.

"He'd not upset you them?"

Kellahan shook his head.

"No! Indeed, and wasn't he preparing to declare me trained? The document is in his desk, with his colourbook! I can show you!"

"Later. When you've told us about the last one" Geriana was imperturbable. She knew what he was talking about; artists did not serve the same form of formal apprenticeship as other craftsmen did, but rather became attached to an established artist who signed them off as competent, effectively as Journeymen, when he felt them ready. Status as Master came after ten more turns, or if acclaimed by at least three other masters. Such a document of competency was not strictly necessary to set up as an artist; there were others like Geriana who were self taught for lack of a master, but competent enough to establish themselves on their own. Even so, it was a compliment to be given a document of competency by an accredited master, and Geriana was secretly personally devastated by Rhaghe's death as she had hoped to show him some of her work and ask if he felt her worthy of such a document, that would permit her to wear a Journeyman's knots. She preferred not to ask either of the other two Kellahan had described so far, nor, as Kellahan went on, did she think much of the third.

"I've saved Rodey to the last" Kellahan said. "He's a bit older than Anil, but not so old as Rhaghe or Niran. And he thinks he's something special. He goes a lot for experimenting with new techniques and unusual uses of colour. He used to sneer at Rhaghe for being old fashioned. And Rhaghe would point out that he had nothing against experiments as such – he approved of Agatta; she's not here for she turned it down, I heard"

"She did" sighed Varilka "She had other commissions already promised."

Geriana had heard of Agatta and thought that explanation an uncommonly tactful way of putting the female Master's horror at the idea of being associated with the hodge-podge of styles here. Rhaghe may have been the best but he was not above putting fame above personal and professional pride, apparently!

Kellahan went on,

"Anyways, they rowed a lot….Rodey and my master….only he's a little short guy, he couldn't…." He choked.

"Apprentices?" queried Geriana. Kellahan shook his head.

"Too self-satisfied. Didn't want to have a rival nor yet to take the trouble to train a youngster."

Geriana grunted. Rodey sounded like an older and male version of the irritating Carlinna back at the Weyr!

"Very well" she said. "Show us your yet unsigned document of completion as additional proof of your innocence."

"Additional?" he sounded hopeful. Geriana shrugged.

"You were having difficulty speaking of him in the past tense….it's a crude guide, but those who kill know the finality of what they have done."

Kellahan looked relieved; and went obediently to the portable desk, the big box Geriana had noted next to the sketches. He opened the lid and gasped.

"What's wrong?" asked Geriana sharply "Are you saying it's missing?"

"No…no, the document's here" he passed it absently over. "But his colour book is gone!"

"Ah" said Geriana "A most significant fact."

"Colour book? What is that?" asked Eveny.

"A colour book, Holder, is a collection of leaves – paper, parchment, even thin wood sheets – on which an artist or colourman makes notes about how to mix a particular colour, including a sample of that colour; especially the more expensive ones, to ensure there's no waste. Blues for example, the best blues, need to be ground from lapis lazuli, and need walnut oil to keep them from yellowing. Cheap blues can be transient and either fade or turn grey with time."

"Yes" put in Kellahan "It was Rhaghe's blues that Anil was chiefly interested in. You know the secret then, Lady."

Geriana nodded. "B'kas was an apprentice colourman" she indicated her weyrmate. "His master knew. Holder Eveny, I think it may be important to talk to Anil. And his, um, inamorata."

"Now who's using the jawcrack words?" said Kellahan, some of his jaunty, harper-like aplomb returning with the proof of his lack of motive.

Geriana ignored him.

"While we speak with Anil, S'net, could you search his rooms?" she asked.

The Blue Rider nodded.

"And I'll invite them along…whether they want an invite or not" grinned S'negen. "Give us a hand, B'kas?" B'kas nodded; and the three riders exited.

Eveny suggested,

"We should have a Harper to interview them."

Geriana nodded. The Harper Hall held jurisdiction over disputes and assisted in the dispensing of justice. Eveny went himself to find the Hold Harper; the journeyman Harper was young and enthusiastic and listened carefully as Geriana filled him in on the facts while they waited for the two Riders to find and bring both Anil and his apprentice. His name was Grehan, and he had never heard of logicating.

"This is fascinating!" he said "I would like to write to Master Robinton concerning it!"

"I think you'll find he knows" said Geriana. "Ah, here they are."

Anil was inclined to be pugnacious when led in; his 'apprentice' was tearful in a pouty sort of way. She was pretty, and though slender as described gave the impression of having more assets than perhaps the measuring string might show from the rather provocative way she dressed. Anil was, as Kellahan had described, 'good looking in a rugged sort of way'; but his thick, sensual lips mad Geriana want to shudder. Moreover, his ruggedness was superficial only; Geriana was used to dragonriders, men who really were tough and rugged as a matter of course, not projecting a careful image. Anil lacked muscle tone.

"What is all this, my lord?" Anil demanded of Eveny.

"Just answer the questions that are put" said Eveny.

Geriana looked at Grehan the Harper.

"Will you ask the questions formally?" she asked politely.

"I'm happy for you to do so" he passed the responsibility. Fascinated he might be; competent to proceed he did not feel. To have a murder on his first day of his first posting as Journeyman was not what he had bargained for! Geriana nodded.

"Very well" she turned to the artist. "I put it to you, Artist Master Anil that you coveted the secrets of Rhaghe's colours; and that you came over to this cot last night to look at or steal his colour book. Judging by the deranged state of Rhaghe's bed, he heard a noise – and disturbed you. Panicked, you snatched the nearest thing to hand – the stone pestle – and struck him down. Not, I'm sure, even meaning to kill him. Just in a blind rage or panic, depending on what he said to you. Did it happen like that?"

Anil was pale beneath his weatherbeaten tan. He moistened his thick lips with his tongue.

"I don't know what you're talking about" he blustered. "I was in bed all night. Elnara will tell you."

The girl shrieked,

"No I won't! I'll not be made Holdless for you! You're a good enough lover, but you aren't good enough to risk that for! He came in real late" she turned to Geriana "REAL late. He had something in his hands, and he hid it. Then he went to the Necessary. I heard him puking. Then he came to bed."

"Thank you, Elnara" said Geriana.

Anil scowled.

"Tunel snake!" he said. "All right, then. I came to bed late. You know why? I was – I was watching Pritara undress. She's prettier than you."

Elnara spat a number of unflattering epithets causing Eveny to pale again. Really, thought Geriana, the boy had had a very sheltered upbringing.

The door opened, interrupting Elnara's flow of invective, and S'net came in.

"Kellahan – a formal identification of your Master's colour book please" said Geriana as the young Rider passed her a bulky bound volume.

Kellahan had only to glance at it.

"That's it" he said, opening it to leaf through. "It's intact."

"Where was it?" asked Geriana.

S'net indicated Anil with a thumb in time honoured manner.

"Under his pillow."

Anil moaned and buried his head in his hands. His lady love had hysterics.

"I'm sure" said Geriana "That if you made a clean breast of it, if you did not mean to kill Rhaghe, Holder Eveny will show you mercy."

"I didn't mean to. I didn't" the artist said, lifting his head, his eyes black with despair. "I just intended to copy his notes. He was getting deaf, I thought I was safe to sneak in. But he came out, and he said some really nasty things. I lost my cool. That's how it happened. I took the book because I was afraid to stay with – with Rhaghe" he looked at Eveny. "I did check in case he was still alive" he said "Truly, I meant to call for help if he was."

"It's a difficult thing to decide right away" said the young Holder. "I will consider what to do; but I shall certainly consider the weyrwoman's recommendation to clemency. I must thank you Weyrfolk for helping to uncover the truth."

"Don't mention it" said S'negen.

Geriana took Varilka's hands.

"Do you still want us to visit, or will it remind you of a nasty incident?" she asked.

Varilka kissed her cheek.

"Visit" she said. "But for you, suspicions could have fallen on all, or the wrong person. Next time we shall speak of more pleasant things, hmm?"

"Indeed!" agreed Geriana.

Eveny decided to impose a blood price on Anil to be paid to Kellahan: and he ordered the artist to sign the young man's document of completion as a Master Artist, and countersigned it himself with a brief explanation that Kellahan's Master had been Rhaghe who had held intention of release. Anil was to work in the Hold to pay of such of his blood price as he had not got in stored marks, undertaking more menial decoration such as painting plain walls.

"If there are any" muttered S'net.

"Heh, he'll be limewashing the kitchens" grinned S'negen. "Horrid job."

"Serve him right" said B'kas, who hated violence.

Kellahan was grateful too; the weyrfolk had saved him from being accused! He diffidently asked Geriana if she and B'kas would like to look through and copy notes from the colour book.

"We'd be glad to" said Geriana "And thank you; and if we have knowledge of colours you do not have we can make exchange. The jealousy amongst artists that leads them to guard their own secrets instead of generally improving their craft is thoroughly silly. And now it has caused a death. Rhaghe had little to fear in sharing his colour secrets; EVEN IF Anil knew how to mix lapis blue, there was no guarantee he'd use colour with any degree of effectiveness. Rhaghe's work just drips with light, he had no need to fear being outshone in that. And even if he was, surely it is good to improve one's craft even if one is outstripped by a pupil?"

Kellahan stared.

"Jays, but you're right!" he said. "Skill should show – not secret techniques! I'll let anyone who wants to copy the old man's hard learned secrets so long as they will do likewise. It shall be a legacy of his memory!"

Geriana was glad. If even a slightly more open attitude could prevail, artists would surely improve generally and maybe one day there would even be a dedicated crafthall, especially as there was now the disposable medium of paper to practice on!

The four lovers returned to High Reaches in plenty of time for Threadfall and with a story to tell!


	7. Chapter 7

**7 Interlude**

Geriana and her boys related the whole of their experience in full to T'lana and the other logicators after Threadfall, having given only a truncated version beforehand.

T'lana nodded sagely.

"It was well done" she said. "It was fortunate that a logicator with specialist knowledge was on the spot. It goes to prove something I keep saying – that although anyone with a quick brain can learn to logicate, it is vital to draw logicators from as wide a field of experience as possible so that such specialist knowledge may be applied."

The others murmured assent; T'lana was preaching to the converted, and her little band of disciples were devoted to her and her ideas.

"With human behaviour some generalisations can be made" objected T'rin.

"Why yes, indeed they can. Nobody disputes that" said T'lana. "But to, say, a farmer, the mixing of a particular colour may seem so trivial that it would not be enough of a motive for him to consider looking into. Conversely, to an artist, obtaining a particular bloodline to cover a mare, say, might mean very little. The motive for either might be jealousy or covetousness; and be enough to kill for. Our specialists help to sort out detail that we might lose in too much generalisation."

T'rin grinned.

"It wasn't a serious cavil. I just enjoy the debates."

They were holding the meeting in the room of the injured Harper boy, Horgey; T'rin had told him something of the logicators and he begged to know more. The Harperweyr apprentices had dragged a couple of three-bed bunks up from the new candidates' quarters, for the ceiling was high, and the logicators squeezed in four to a single bed, with others perched beside Horgey and the remainder standing in the doorway. Horgey had a large room, as he was spending much of his time there, being immobile in bed; but they were still, as Y'lara put it, packed like fish in a basket. Horgey was touched and delighted that they would put up with so much discomfort to include him!

"You say people act all alike?" he put in "So how come some people end up as dragonriders and some as renegades?"

His tone was a little bitter, for having been expelled from the Harper Hall he had ended up with a group of renegades. T'lana smiled at him.

"There are kinds of people, Horgey, each group having general ways in which they will react to a particular stimulus. Such that Holderfolk hide from Thread, dragonriders meet it head on with insane and grim glee, and woodcrafters go out in Fall with hatred and determination. But you've picked, in a way, a poor example, for Riders and renegades are just two sides of the same mark."

There were some protests at this; and T'lana held up a hand, apologising quickly to M'gol whose eye she poked with her elbow as she lifted her hand.

"Now, my dear ones, tell me truly, how often do the thoroughly conventional and hidebound and Holdbound manage to Impress?" she asked.

"Not hardly I bet" said B'lova, surreptitiously rubbing the pins and needles sensation in her foot.

"Quite right. To be a dragonrider you have to have a bit of the misfit about you – to be a rebel. To question. To – and this is most important – be able to take your own decisions. A dragonrider should also be able to be selfless, upright, honourable and – again, most important – compassionate. Your average renegade can't settle to anything. Some are dimglows, and can't do anything but steal; but many are intelligent enough, they just CANNOT fit in. Many have had pretty beastly childhoods; and do not know how to relate to others, let alone use compassion, having never had a proper caring upbringing. All they have seen is that to survive, they must take; and the weakest go to the wall. It's a piss-poor apprenticeship for life" she shrugged sadly and M'gol made a mock groan of protest.

"You're saying renegades aren't responsible for being bad?" asked T'rin scornfully. "I was Holdless – and a thief, a good one. And I've done all right. And I had to have compassion because of m'sister."

"Suppose she'd died?" asked T'lana. "Suppose you hadn't known the love of the parents who went without for you younger ones and died for it? Suppose I'd handed you over to Deckter when you picked my pocket and you'd been imprisoned in indentured servitude, regardless of having a dependant sister?"

"Deckter's not like that….oh. Yes. There are plenty who are" T'rin conceded. "I suppose I'd not considered either the importance of our parents in our lives….Horgey won't mind me sharing with you lot that he saw his father kill his mother and was beaten every day of his life as far back as he can remember…..and we got a hand up before we'd got hardened. I guess if things had been different….shards, I can be pretty vindictive at times even as it is."

T'lana glanced at Horgey, T'rin's old enemy, fighting tears at old memories, and smiled to herself.

"Yeah. Real vindictive" she said softly.

"That's different!" yelped T'rin waving his arms and promptly being prodded by the various people he clouted in so doing.

H'llon chuckled.

"Well, I see Harper-baiting is in season instead of H'llon baiting" he said.

T'lana grinned.

"He rises so beautiful….but the point I'm making is that upbringing affects basic personality. Which gives a wide variation. Upbringing can even change suddenly if parents die – like Radall whose aunt couldn't cope with him having no legs, or by injury, like Telfer, whose parents wished he had died in the fire that deprived him of his sight. But even taking that all into account, there are enough basic types to generalise to some extent."

"Like what?" asked Horgey, interested.

"Take candidates" said T'lana.

"Yes – take all candidates WELL away" suggested Y'lara. T'lana threw a pillow at her and continued.

"Girls specifically; there are the shy ones – who are either 'dragons are so wonderful I could never be worthy' who of course are, like our own J'nara; or the 'I was afraid to refuse the honour' or the 'I'm less scared of the Weyr than of marriage'. There are the adventurous enthusiastic ones – 'nuff said, I think – and there are the girls who come solely to avoid marriage and a baby a year. They tend to either be totally standoffish to men: or view the Weyr as their own personal stud farm."

B'lova and L'rilly both flushed; T'lana ignored them and went on blithely.

"The former tend to be lower born; the latter almost always Ranking, of blood or children of Craftmasters. Hedged around by convention that see the Weyr as a way to rid themselves of the shackles of their sex and rank and can go a little over the top. Usually they either settle down and become sensible and fardling good weyrwomen" she shot her two friends a roguish look "Or end up getting thrown out. People generally speaking have drives – and are driven by them in differing degrees according to what they lack. Hunger, lust, freedom – each takes its place."

"Going back to renegades" asked Horgey, shyly "Do you think that they could largely be rehabilitated if – if Ranking girls can have their corners rubbed off so to speak? Sorry if I speak out of turn."

"It's not out of turn" said T'lana "Because they may have had an inadequate upbringing in terms of being spoilt. It's not so dissimilar. But I'd say" she added carefully "That with renegades it depends. A lot depends on how – well, how wicked they have grown. Many have ceased caring how bad the things they do really are" she shuddered, remembering the dreadful picnic when she and other weyrwomen were kidnapped and she had been raped. L'rilly slid a hand into hers. T'lana swallowed and went on "And some CHOOSE to be enemies of society for greed or hatred. If something could be found to give a particular renegade something to care about, or care for, then I'd say, yes, he can save himself. If he's past that, then no. Only the man within can save himself, and he has to want to because he has to hate what he's doing and want more and have the strength to reach out for more" she smiled at Horgey. "Many renegades seem to feel that life owes them; but until they accept that you have to give in order to get, they're a dead loss. Does that come anywhere close to answering your question?"

"Kind of" said Horgey. "That's people who have the habit of – well, of badness. Like me I guess. But I – I've learned to recognise my jealousies and anger, and I do love music, so I've that to care for. But what about little kids? Those that are born Holdless?"

"Holdless does not equate with renegade, thank you!" said T'arla, tartly. "My kin are Holdless. The Petlengo family are fine tinkers and traders. They don't need to steal and kill."

Horgey flushed.

"I didn't mean….." he began "Well, partly I did, I guess, because not all tinkers and traders are blameless."

"This is true" said D're. "My kin has been blamed, so they have, for the sins of others."

Horgey threw him a grateful glance.

"You mean" said T'lana "That children brought up to crime by criminal parents know no different and can have no moral measuring-string; whereas those who have become renegades may still have a sense of shame?"

Horgey nodded, grateful for her clear summation of what he was trying to say. T'lana pulled a face.

"It's a hard question to answer, Horgey. All I can say is that most children have an innate sense of what is fair; and what is not. And if caught early enough, you can appeal to that. But it is a fair point to raise, for it's difficult to find an answer to a growing problem. Holders WILL insist on exiling criminals to shift the responsibility rather than solve the problem; and people do breed. So there are children suffering the pubishment of criminals when they are too young to have committed crimes – yes, T'arla, I know you don't consider it a punishment, but if their parents are criminals there will be a certain amount of being hounded out rather than being given Holdroom as your family are during Threadfall. And in such situation it is scarce a wonder that children grow up to crime themselves. No, H'llon" she reached across several people to put a finger to the lips of the Bronze Rider. "I can hear what you're thinking; and your radical views on elected Holders are well known. And I say again, they would not work."

"I don't see why not" H'llon grumbled.

"Let me put it this way, dear one" said T'lana. "Who's the most POPULAR person in the Weyr?"

H'llon pondered carefully, trying to take into account the views of others outside his own circle of friends.

"Probably Geriana" he said. T'lana nodded as Geriana looked astounded.

"Now, do you think our Geri would make a good Weyrleader – or even Lady Holder?" asked T'lana.

"Not hardly!" exploded Geriana.

H'llon pulled a face and shook his head.

"No" he said "But surely people would elect a leader for their leadership qualities and…." He looked bewildered and slightly hurt at the collective hoot of derisive laughter.

"Dear H'llon. You're so noble" sighed T'lana. "People would try to elect those they thought would do favours for them; or make them richer; even by downright paying for votes. Or they would choose someone 'nice' regardless of their ability. And you can't always afford to be nice when there are hard decisions to be made. Like rationing in years of famine."

"You have a low opinion of people" said H'llon.

"You're craftbred where ability has to count, and others of SKILL choose who advances; those already proven. I was born a cot holder's child in a loose collective of cots. I KNOW what motivates most people; and it's self preservation first and material gain second. Altruistic motives come a very poor third when they come at all. Ask M'gol."

M'gol, who was saving space – he claimed – by having J'nara perched on his knee, nodded.

"I had a shock" he said. "Even Tragen's people, who work for the preservation of the whole rather than the individual – as Holds are supposed to, but rarely in practice do – they could have been bamboozled by a silver tongued and plausible man as a Lord Holder candidate. So long as they had Tragen in immediate control, I doubt they'd even care if a llama got elected."

"Huh, and a llama'd still have more brains than Lord Sangel of Boll" muttered T'lana.

H'llon shook his head, bewildered. People seemed to have such STRANGE motivations.

"Going back to the problem, which causes we well know" said T'lana "All we, as logicators, can do is to try to advise other solutions than exile and Holdlessness as a punishment. And where renegades are rounded up as sometimes they periodically are, if they have children we must try to see they are fostered somewhere responsible with folk who will address their problems not merely punish poor behaviour."

"She means bring 'em here" said L'rilly bluntly. "T'bor's too good natured to turn down your various waifs and strays, T'lan."

"MY?" queried T'lana looking at D're, whose hand L'rilly had possessed herself of. The older Queenrider laughed.

"Rather sententious, wasn't it?" she said, shamefaced.

"Rather!" agreed T'lana.

"But we simply can't take on everyone's problems" sighed L'rilly.

"I know. But if nobody else will, what else can we do?" shrugged T'lana.

No-one had an answer to that and an uncomfortable silence fell.

H'llon cleared his throat.

"I seem to recall" he said "That we, as dragonriders, swore to protect the people of Pern. ALL the people of Pern. Not just those who are covered by the Weyr, or those we like. Some, like the most dyed-in-the-wool renegades will not accept our protection. And it's nigh on impossible to protect those who don't want protecting. But if they have turned to crime for a specific reason that could be addressed, then it is without doubt our DUTY to address it."

"As always, old boy, you shame the rest of us with your clear understanding of what it is to be a dragonman" said Z'kan.

"If only T'bor and F'lar ran everywhere…." Murmured L'rilly dryly.

"We mostly manage to butt in on other folk's problems" said T'lana cheerfully.

"YOU do sweetie" said L'rilly without rancour.

"I just bully people" said Y'lara.

"DO tell!" it was a chorus.

"H'llon is right" said T'lana "But we MUST be tactful or we'll lose the good will that lets us overstep the mark of our autonomy. And if we do take on other folk who need us, we need to find a way to finance it."

"Like me" said Horgey bitterly.

T'lana looked surprised.

"You pay your way fine, Horgey" she said. "You teach, and play for us, and make instruments for the kids. YOU're no drain. But children are – must be – until they are old enough to do their share of the chores. It's a fact of life. Rearing a child costs around fifteen hundred marks – around one hundred a turn if you don't want them going short."

"I could make more instruments to sell; especially if they could be stamped" suggested Horgey. "Stamped they fetch more – and I am good enough."

"I can carve knick-nacks – boxes, ornaments, hair combs, bobbins for lace making" said H'llon.

"I have few womanly skills but I can braid and weave reed baskets too" added T'lana. "Fine; we'll ask our various Lords Holder if we can have a Weyr craftstall to finance the children people send to us. We're known for our eccentricity; let's cash in on it!"

"Yes" said T'rin "And people would be more accepting of us taking cripples and the like if they thought we were covering the cost ourselves not taking it from their tithing" said T'rin cynically. "They'd object, some of 'em, to their tithe going to feed what they call 'unproductives'. Nobody as tight as a farmer, you know."

"Heh, that's the truth!" agreed T'lana. "Good: that's settled!"

_A/N I'd like some feedback as to whether people out there would like me to set up a forum with a who's who in my AU Pern because I don't believe i am allowed to post it as a story as it's a list of people and a little bit about them. _

_Thoughts anyone?  
_


	8. Chapter 8

**8 Just a Bump on a Log**

The first opportunity the Weyrfolk had of trying their craftstall was at Nabol's early Summer Gather, a few days before that of High Reaches. They would have to stock it with such things as had already been made, for it was a bare day's notice; but plenty of dragonriders had creative hobbies, and rarely knew what to do with the items they had made! Geriana asked H'llon to make frames for some of her pictures, and she had two sets of dragonpoker cards ready painted; H'llon had a number of little boxes, mostly turned ones, that were ever popular, and a few larger hinged rectangular ones. He also turned some bowls and some spindles for wool and thread. Horgey had several drums and pipes ready, for making instruments was a delight to him and something he could do in his bed. T'lana had been making some baskets to store fruit in, that the air might get to them, but there was no immediate hurry for them and she could always make more; an ageing Bronze rider volunteered some intricately embroidered cushion covers; several seabred riders donated some scrimshaw work and Keerana added several knitted sweaters in intricate patterns. Between the whole Weyr a respectable amount was gathered. Many of the items donated involved leatherwork, of course; for all Riders had to be competent enough to keep their own leatherwork in order. J'nara had been drying flowers and filled some of T'lana's smaller baskets with them.

"If you make small ones another time with lids, they's be perfect to fill with dried scented flowers and leaves, like lemonbalm and lavender" she said. "People could put them in their clothes presses to keep their clothes smelling fresh."

"My mother used cambric bags filled with lavender" recalled T'lana. "We could get embroiderers to embellish those too."

Two of T'rin's clutchmates, minerbred B'lan and D'nor, shyly presented one or two carved stone ornaments and a string of semi-precious stones graduated in size and colour on a necklace.

"I hope these are suitable" said D'nor "we're not logicators, but we're so grateful that the Weyr just accepts that we are lovers!"

T'lana happily hugged and kissed them both affectionately, as she would do to any of her girl friends. They shuffled and looked pleased.

Other people continued to contribute items right up to the time the logicators were loading their dragons to leave; even little Takula, who had taken up sewing seriously after her sister became T'rin's apprentice. She presented the group with a carefully sewn patchwork cushion much under the supervision of Pilgra.

"Are you sure you want to part with this, sweeting?" asked T'lana.

The child nodded seriously.

"You took us" she said. She and Kulana still had problems as a result of their early ill treatment and rejection. T'lana hugged her, careful to release her quickly as soon as she felt the self sufficient little body start to stiffen and rebel.

"Then I thank you" the little weyrwoman said simply.

The Gather Day dawned fine and warm; and it was barely past dawn as the Weyr contingent left to set up their stall. H'llon helped unload everything and set up the stall and its awning; and was promptly banned from helping further when he started to set things out to help the weyrwomen who had volunteered to man it.

"DEAR H'llon" said Z'linda "Most people don't like to look at things arranged in straight lines in order of size, you know. Why don't you and Z'kan and M'gol go and look around?"

"But…" H'llon started to protest, then shrugged and gave up. There was no point arguing with any of the women of High Reaches.

Z'kan and M'gol had got quite friendly since their visit to Tragen's Runnerhold; and they had already slipped away to study runnerbeast form, being convinced that working for a couple of sevendays in the stables made them experts!

R'cal turned to H'llon.

"Well, lad, shall we do what the honoured weyrwoman told us and get out of their hair?"

H'llon shrugged.

"Why not?"

As they looked around the stalls, H'llon supposed that the women must be correct about how to lay out stalls, for all the stall holders set things out in a higgledy-piggeldy fashion; and though some seemed to be arranged in a pleasing pattern, other stalls seemed to have no order to them at all and H'llon itched to straighten things up. His eye was drawn to a stall of brightly painted wooden toys.

"You could make far better than that" said R'cal, quietly. "Heh, your smallest apprentice could for that matter."

H'llon nodded. The quality was not, to his mind, adequate to be stamped as passed apprentice work; yet the fellow behind the stall was busy telling the women with children who stopped to look that it was all his work, and even seemed proud to admit it! Mentally, H'llon redesigned dolls to have their bodies turned on the lathe, and puppets made similarly. Hobby-runnerbeasts - or hobby-dragons, he thought – were easy; and rocking dragons too. Radall would enjoy helping to paint them since the garish colours that his the purity of the wood seemed popular with small children; B'kas would doubtless be happy to supply colours. And some of the kinetic toys like diabolos and tops would be more satisfying if turned because they would work better.

H'llon was still thinking and planning as he turned away towards the Porcine pen. Lord Dekter had donated an animal which his men were currently busy greasing – the animal's protesting squeals entirely ignored – in preparation for the 'catch the greased porcine' competition. The signs declared that for the small fee of an eighth of a mark anyone had the chance to catch and hold onto the porcine and so win it.

"This is amusing" grinned R'cal. "You need long arms and determination to ever win. And the ground'll be well muddied to make it even harder – look, they're bringing water now to start it churning up."

H'llon grinned. The concept of the inept and bucolic efforts of greedy cotholders getting covered in mud, filth and grease to win a porcine did have its amusement value! The grin was, however, wiped rapidly from his face as he overheard a man standing in front of him.

The man was a seedy looking individual who drove a knowing elbow into his equally insalubrious companion's ribs and indicated the Weyr stall with a jerk of his none to clean thumb.

"Hey, I wouldn't mind playing catch the greased weyrwoman instead, right?"

H'llon cleared his throat loudly.

"I don't think I heard you aright, neighbour" he said loudly. "Would you care to repeat that remark?"

The man was speaking as he turned.

"What I said, cloth-ears was I wouldn't…" he caught sight of H'llon's knots; and looked up at the size of the giant young Bronze Rider. "Uh….I'm sorry, Bronze Rider, I didn't say anything."

"Good" said H'llon. "Carry on not saying it, neighbour."

R'cal steered H'llon firmly away from the Gather Field as the Bronze Rider showed signs of boredom with the stalls and started making noises about going and helping the girls. R'cal was old enough to have the wisdom to leave women in the throes of organisational zeal well alone; it saved trouble in the long run. He drew his young friend down the path towards the river where a loose collection of cots sprawled.

They were in time to see a young man in Gather finery, in a fine green tunic decorated with bright braid, being grabbed by a motley collection of cotholders, yelling and screaming.

The two dragonriders exchanged a glance; and moved quickly in.

"What's going on here?" H'llon's deep, commanding voice rang out.

Silence fell briefly and H'llon and R'cal had the view of several surprised tonsils as jaws dropped. Then everyone started shouting at once. H'llon held up a hand.

He's learned to use his authority; good! Thought R'cal.

"You" H'llon pointed to a cotholder who seemed to have been organising the others, a prosperous man by the quality of his brown and white plaid breeches and damasked linen tunic in brown and white lozenges. "What is going on?"

The man shuffled and tried to hide the noose ha had been tying.

"This yere stranger done stabbed Erron in the back!" he accused, pointing at the young man in green,

"I don't know what he's talking about! I never….." protested the young man.

H'llon held up a finger and ran a look across the crowd.

"He must be a remarkably foolish young man to do so in front of so many witnesses" he said dryly.

"Ar, we di'n't see ut. 'Twas Alishi. Erron's wife. She seen un." Said the spokesman, indicating a brawny woman busy wailing into her apron.

"That's a lie!" cried the stranger. "How could she see what never happened?"

"And your name?" asked H'llon "And your story?"

"I'm Tarris. I was going to the Gather, just walking along and I saw a foot sticking out of that bush. I thought someone might be ill, or have been set upon by renegades, for they're bold villains some of them, even to come up to cotholds when they can hide amongst Gather-goers; for plenty come to Gathers with a full pouch. I went to look and this woman" he pointed to the one named as Alishi "She come running out and shrieking murder, and accusing me! I never done nothing!"

H'llon looked at the woman. She was peeking at him from behind her apron.

"I'll see the body" said the Bronze Rider. "What was your name?" he swung back to the spokesman.

"Tarho….me Lord" he shuffled uncomfortably under H'llon's regard, but showed him the body. H'llon looked at the big vegetable knife driven into the man's back. He was a slightly built man; but it would have taken some strength nonetheless.

H'llon checked the state of the body as a matter of course; for to his initial touch it seemed cooler than it should be. The jaw was already stiffened.

"This man was killed several hours ago" he said, surprised. "You women know how long it takes for a body to start to get stiff" several women onlookers nodded sagely. H'llon went on "In which case this Tarris therefore cannot have done it – unless he has been lurking for some time. Which seems unlikely."

Tarho stared.

"But Alishi said she saw un do ut!"

"Then Alishi is mistaken – or lying" H'llon turned his gaze on the large, capable looking woman.

She started shrieking incoherently.

Tarho looked suddenly thoughtful.

"Her 'n' him done quarrel a lot" he said.

"Would anyone happen to recognise this vegetable knife?" asked H'llon, withdrawing it from the wound, which gaped now bloodlessly. The blade had a nick in it.

"Ar, 'tis Alishi's knife" one of the women in the crowd said. "That there nick's where ut hit the wall when she threw ut at un" she indicated the corpse with a nod of the head.

"I think" said H'llon "We'd best lay all this before Lord Dekter at his Gather Assizes. You fellows bring the body – cover it decently, there'll be a blanket in his own cot – while I escort Mistress Alishi. And you can come too" he said sharply to Tarris , who was trying to slip away. "You'll be free to go when Lord Deckter has heard your deposition. I'm sure you'll not lose out; if nothing else it's a good story to get someone else to buy the ale to hear" he added cynically.

The woman Alishi snatched the knife and went for H'llon; and the Bronze Rider effortlessly disarmed her. R'cal slapped her face to bring her out of her hysterics.

"You are overwrought" the older Rider said coldly. "And I expect that the Bronze Rider will be kind enough not to compound your crime further by mentioning your murderous attack upon a dragonman to Lord Deckter. I suggest you start thinking of how you are going to explain your actions; for if you had good reason, Lord Deckter will be merciful, though he will not be happy you tried to shift the blame onto an innocent stranger. Innocent of murder, anyway" he added cynically "Even if the thought crossed his mind that there was a drunken man in the bushes who might have a pouch that could be lightened."

"Here!" said Tarris. "That's not fair to accuse me!"

R'cal shrugged.

"If I'm wrong, I apologise; but you were awfully emphatic about renegades robbing fat pouches you know."

The woman was sobbing meanwhile.

"Aye, I had good reason" she said "Though I doubt Me Lord will understand. Erron was such – such a NOTHING man. Nowt I did or said could get un ter be anything but a bump on a log. I just couldn't stand it anymore"

R'cal and H'llon exchanged a look. It sounded trivial; but to this woman it was enough to drive her to murder.

"People are strange" said H'llon.

"I'm beginning to agree with you, lad!" admitted R'cal. "Now let's drop this in Deckter's lap and I'll be off to collect my younglings to enjoy the Gather!" R'cal was immensely fond of his two stepsons as well as the sister he had sired!

Deckter had listened to the deposition of the Bronze Rider, and groaned over having to pass judgement on Alishi. In the end, having heard her story he set a small fine to pay to Tarris for his trouble and a larger one to Erron's nearest relative; and sentenced her to work at the Hold to pay her debt, under the eye of his most trusted foreman.

"I'd have set a larger fine to pay Tarris but for the suspicion R'cal had about his honesty" he said privately to H'llon. "He did look rather shifty when you mentioned it; not an out and out thief, I think, but a bit of an opportunist. Had he brought forward a story of having been robbed himself or knowing one who had been I should have been more inclined to trust his tale of altruism. As it is….."

H'llon nodded.

"R'cal has less trust in human nature than I have" he sighed "But he's older than me and has more experience of people. I fear he was right. Tarris said the accusation was unfair; he didn't deny it outright as he did the accusation of murder. And he whined when he said it."

Deckter smiled.

"And what a lucky little thief he was to be noticed by the High Reaches Logicators before he was strung up for something he did not do. I think I shall impose a fine on the whole of that community for being too quick to act when they should bring such matters to me. And on an Assize day too! It's time they learned I'm not Meron to shirk my responsibilities" he finished grimly.

H'llon grinned.

He liked Deckter.

Besides, Deckter had been chosen by competent professionals in a way; the Masterharper, and F'lar of Benden and other responsible Lords Holder had tricked Meron into naming him as his successor, and H'llon looked upon the Lord of Nabol as being as competent as any Mastercrafter!

H'llon called back to the Weyr stall after discharging his duties, and Z'linda smiled brightly at him.

"You see? We got set up just fine and we've had to rearrange things several times because we've been selling so well. We shan't have enough stuff for a second day at this rate. Did you have a good time?"

H'llon shrugged.

"Nothing very eventful" he said.


	9. Chapter 9

**9 Trial by Innocence**

T'lana had not expected to see the Lady Libethra again – except maybe at a distance at a Gather – although the woman had written a prettily worded letter thanking her for her efforts in reuniting her with her daughter. So when Mirrith relayed the message that the High Reaches Hold dragon had brought the lady with the kidnapped daughter to see her, T'lana was intrigued.

That the Lady Libethra had brought along another girl was also intriguing.

This girl was poorly clad below obviously borrowed flying furs, in the dark blue and tan checks on cheap cotton of a High Reaches drudge. She was plainly terrified. Her face was streaked and stained with tears, and not all were immediate, for her eyes were puffy and red.

The light of martial duty lay in Libethra's eye; and she pulled the girl forward.

"Curtsey nicely to the weyrwoman, Cari, and we'll tell her all about it. SHE'll see you right and sort it out."

The girl Cari sketched a frightened curtsey. Her manner suggested that she had been swept up by the forceful Libethra and was wishing herself anywhere else!

T'lana smiled at her reassuringly.

"Come now, Cari! If you and the Lady Libethra would like to come to my weyr, I've klah hot there" she put an arm around the frightened girl – who was more than a head taller than the little Queenrider – and felt her wince. Quickly T'lana looked at Libethra.

"Beaten" said the Ranking woman. "In my view harshly and unjustly. It's all part of the tale. She's had numbweed, naturally I saw to that before I had her brought _Between_; I think she'll need more to return with."

T'lana nodded, giving an approving smile.

"What I like about you. My Lady, is that to you it is 'naturally'" she murmured. She led the two women up the long steps to her own and R'gar's cosy if plain weyrs. T'lana said and asked no more until each of her visitors held mugs of hot klah and Cari had taken several sips.

"Now, Cari" said T'lana, gently "Tell me about it."

The girl Cari burst into a storm of sobbing.

"Do you want me to give an outline?" Libethra asked. "She's not very articulate, even when she's not upset."

T'lana nodded.

"Beyond the fact that she is a drudge at High Reaches Hold accustomed to clean out the Ladies' chambers including lighting the fires but is trusted to clean silverware and the like I can deduce nothing about her."

Cari's eyes opened and she stared at T'lana.

"How come you know that?" she cried fearfully.

"Indeed, I too am intrigued" said Libethra.

"Elementary" murmured T'lana, herself not immune to the lure of H'llon's logicating manual and its supercilious protagonist. "Your clothes, Cari, suggest a drudge, the colours are of High Reaches. The skirt is stained at knee level with ash, and there is a blackrock stain on your wrist, which also tells me they are delicate articles to need a fire in the evenings this late into the year. Those signs tell me of your firehearth duties. There are stands of fine embroidery threads adhering to your gown that speak of your duties being in the ladies' quarters; and your thumbs are blackened characteristically where you have used them to give the final polish to silverware."

Cari gaped in adenoidal astonishment.

Libethra pulled a wry face.

"You make it sound so easy, weyrwoman. But of course you not only see the facts, you are able to put them together; like the watchwher in the night when you and that nice young Bronze Rider helped find my daughter. It only sounds easy after it's explained."

T'lana was gratified. So often it seemed that the Great Holmes had been discounted after his revelations of how he read the clues.

"Tell me all about Cari's problems" she invited.

"There is a lady attendant upon the Lady Holder" said Libethra "By name Zantiffi. She is haughty and immensely fond of her large collection of jewellery. Her favoured piece is a necklace of emeralds, graduated in both size and colour from a big dark green stone with a star fault in it through to almost turquoise stones as it passes round to the back of her neck. She plays with it constantly. She has a nervous habit of pulling at it to put it straight so the star lies right over her cleavage – and it's not so savoury a portion of her anatomy I'd care to draw attention to it if I were her, for it's looking just a little tired now – and that habit has at times dislodged the clasp and it has come away in her hands. This necklace has gone missing; and Zantiffi must have it that Cari has stolen it – and had the poor girl beaten to make her confess and say where she had hidden it. Idiot! I caught her at it and remonstrated" she grinned wryly. "Actually I slapped her. Then I told her I'd see her fardling piece of tawdry finery found, and brought Cari right here."

"Pausing only to find the girl numbweed – as few would have thought of, especially in the throes of righteous indignation."

"I'd say that goes without saying; I take it you know people who are thoughtless."

T'lana sniffed.

"It goes without saying for nice people, Libethra – I mean, Lady Libethra."

Libethra flushed prettily and murmured something inaudible.

"Well" said T'lana "You have my reputation on the line to uncover the truth of the matter."

Indeed, the two women, so different in rank, had very similar looks, reminding T'lana of young canines expecting treats; Cari had started to believe that something really could be done! T'lana took the drudge's face lightly in her hands and looked into the girl's eyes.

"I want you to tell me truthfully if you took the necklace, Cari – or gave it to someone – or even handled it and put it somewhere" she said.

"Oh no, weyrwoman! I never EVER touched it!"

T'lana reached out with her 'inner ear' and confirmed the ring of truth in the girl's voice.

"It is known, I think" she said "That by the nature of our association with dragons, many Riders are able to look into hearts. It is a gift I possess; and whether I can determine where this bauble may be or no, I can give you, should you wish, a written affirmation of your innocence. Or, if you prefer, you may stay in the Weyr away from your accuser."

The girl was torn, but her mind was made up by glancing fearfully at the doorway to Mirrith's weyr, where the last six feet or so of the young Queen's caudal extremity was visible twitching gently with Merry the firelizard perched on it, fast asleep.

"I – I don't want to leave home, weyrwoman" she whispered.

"Very well" T'lana smiled kindly at her, and took paper to write briefly and fluently. She handed the paper, after brief hesitation, to Libethra.

"Now" the young weyrwoman said "I will start to work towards the truth as best I might. It is tiresome that I am still weyrbound."

"I remember something about you not being able to leave the Weyr last time I met you" said Libethra. "Why is that? I never got around to asking."

T'lana shrugged.

"I'm pregnant. And as I've had the odd minor trouble with previous pregnancies even in the middle trimester, Pilgra thinks I should spend the whole of this one taking only Straight flights. I can fly to High reaches Hold Straight, but I prefer not to. I've done it before and it's a long cold flight; warm as it is down here in the Weyr, at flying height it's perishing cold but you get sunburn too. And that won't do my pregnancy any good – the cold, I mean, the sunburn's irrelevant of course. And people are determined to coddle me this time because I've been a bit ill with it" she laughed self deprecatingly.

Libethra stared.

"I thought weyrwomen always wanted to take pregnancies _Betweeni"_ she said.

"No; not always. Pilgra came forward four hundred turns and she's devastated that she can't have children. My best friend L'rilly may never have children because she waited too long. I've my own three already and I love 'em all dearly."

"I saw you with several children. Some about Tefanny's age."

"Mostly my fosterlings. I was a precocious brat" she grinned "But not THAT precocious. I'm not Turned twenty-one yet!" she went on, "Tell me about this Zantiffi of the unsavoury cleavage."

Libethra bit her lip.

"I don't like her…perhaps I should not have been bitchy…"

"Heh, do tell. As to being bitchy, if it's an accurate summation it tells me something about her…. I gather it gave you great satisfaction to slap her."

"It did. She's one of those women who has to have a man or several in attendance; and hints that if you don't, there's something wrong with you. She made snide remarks about my divorce. I confess I made equally snide returns about women who never even got offered for in the first place save in a temporary way like any loving wench. She hurt her hand that time because I dodged HER slap and she whacked the wall." Libethra chuckled. "I'm afraid I went and got some numbweed and ostentatiously slathered it onto the wall" she said. "My, she was livid!"

T'lana was laughing out loud.

"Oh I DO like you!" she chuckled. "And she's got no idea how to deal with you I suspect because you don't let yourself get rattled by her sad little digs. Is she also the sort who delights in taking a man from another woman just to show that she can – and then taunting the jilted one on her supposed shortcomings?"

Libethra nodded.

"And flaunting her conquests in other girls' faces. She keeps trying to pick up Bronze Riders, especially your handsome giant. It's H'llon, isn't he?"

T'lana gave a crow of delighted laughter.

"She's doomed to failure! H'llon's got his own sweetheart and is entirely immune to the wiles of unscrupulous women for not even noticing them!" she said.

"Well, I'm glad to hear that. He seemed very nice and I'd not want to see him hurt by her. I can never see what men see in Zantiffi actually; she's shallow, spiteful and empty headed, past her first bloom of youth with a vengeance and her tongue runs flapping like a wherry."

"Perhaps she opens her legs as readily as she opens her mouth" suggested T'lana. Both her visitors stared at her, Cari hiding a grin behind her hand, and Libethra laughing outright.

"Coarse, but oh so true, weyrwoman! What a lovely unkind summation!"

T'lana grinned ruefully.

"I can't believe I said that out loud! Well, I have a suggestion to make – for what it's worth. I have known of an incident where a valuable object was….dislodged….during some pretty athletic…um" she paused "There's no delicate way of putting this; during sexual intercourse. The object turned up in….a place it inadvertently flew to" she grinned to herself , picturing again the disgusted look on B'lova's – Bellova's as she was then – face when T'lana had fished her brooch covered in draconic ear wax from Breeneth's ear. "I would suggest an exhaustive search behind cushions, in vases, even in the hearth is called for. I'd also suggest you leave Cari here temporarily for her own protection whilst you organise such a search."

Libethra nodded thoughtfully.

"The Lady Holder has been visiting relatives; I strongly suspect Zantiffi took liberties with her room, just like some insolent little drudge that must push her luck. We had a visit from a very handsome Harper carrying messages."

"Then I wish you good luck in your search" said T'lana.

Libethra grinned.

"Do you think if I swore solemnly not to poach, H'llon's sweetheart might let me borrow him and pretend he was MY conquest? It would so annoy Zantiffi!"

T'lana grinned.

"I'll ask him" she said, reaching out for Melth.

H'llon and Zaira readily agreed; Zaira trusted her weyrmate utterly, and H'llon was happy to play a joke on any woman unscrupulous enough to take other women's men just because she could! Thus Libethra left on Melth, whilst the Hold dragonrider caught up on all the Weyr gossip. T'lana saw Cari to the lower caverns as a guest, assuring her she need not go near any dragons! The drudge relaxed visibly at that promise, and gave T'lana a quick, shy smile of gratitude. T'lana praised her fulsomely on her courage in flying to the Weyr – though privately she thought the girl had been given little choice by Libethra!

Libethra returned the following day, with H'llon muttering about duplicitous and downright nasty women and how glad he was to be home.

Libethra grinned at T'lana.

"You had it quite correctly, Weyrwoman T'lana" she told the redheaded Queenrider. "I collected all the other ladies and we took the place apart. They were glad to help to shut Zantiffi's moaning up! Anyway, her fardling necklace was down the back of the mattress of the daybed" she sniffed disapprovingly.

T'lana nodded.

"Well, I'm glad it sorted out" she said. "And did you get Zantiffi to promise an apology to Cari?"

Libethra pulled a face.

"Not exactly…..but I got the other ladies to agree that she should pay Cari compensation for a false accusation and unnecessary pain; and we told her that if she didn't cough up we'd tell the Lady Sellena!"

T'lana smiled and touched Libethra's face in a friendly gesture.

"Now that was downright unscrupulous and clever and I thoroughly approve!" she said. She shot the older woman a shrewd look. "How are you and your daughter? Correct me if I'm wrong, but there seems to be something else on your mind than Cari's troubles."

Libethra flushed.

"Am I so transparent? Yes, there is. Tefanny's fine, she's recovered well from her fright. But…"

"Klah" said T'lana firmly "And sweetcakes. And I suggest a pleasant flight somewhere pretty. You look a little frazzled."

Libethra pushed a dark blonde lock of hair firmly back behind an ear.

"It would be nice" she said "To ask advice – well, really, just to talk to someone. Especially a woman not involved in the intricacies of politicking and chasing advantageous marriage."

"Say no more yet!" ordered T'lana. "I'll just ask Mirrith to take us somewhere nice while" she broke off as J'nara walked across with a packet "While I get gently bullied" she laughed.

J'nara smiled.

"Rillith says you were broadcasting pictures of a special place to visit" the Green Rider said. "So I've packed sandwiches, cakes and klah."

T'lana turned to Libethra.

"Libethra, this is J'nara, without whom I should probably fall apart at the seams" she said.

"Wherry teeth!" J'nara flushed. T'lana kissed her fondly.

"I'm very pleased to meet you, Weyrwoman J'nara" said Libethra. J'nara smiled and shook hands; she still saw herself in some ways as T'lana's personal drudge, though the little Queenrider would have been horrified had she known that!

T'lana's special valley eas a short distance by Straight flight, and the well-wrapped klah had not cooled overmuch by the time the two young women sat on the flowery meadow – avoiding the spines of the large High Reaches variety of the pretty but unpleasant cattlebane – beside the laughing stream. Libethra nibbled absently on sandwiches and sweetcakes.

"I'm very grateful to Lord Bargen" she said. "He took my situation seriously, and readily granted me a divorce when my idiot husband Tefan would not discipline his son for kidnapping Tefanny. In fact he's made Teffer work at the Hold as a labourer to pay off not only his debts, but the honour-debt to his half sister – a day for every mark he demanded for her safe return."

"Bargen's a fair man" agreed T'lana, who already knew this and grinned again to herself at the thought of forty thousand days scrubbing necessaries.

"He's also deposed Tefan as too much of an idiot to Hold; and set a steward temporarily to Pars" Libethra went on. "He also says it is Tefanny's Right to Hold when she is old enough, and that I should be Lady Warder."

T'lana nodded.

"A similar situation exists with the Lady Rillys and her daughter at Rivenhill Hold in Nabol" she said. "Lord Deckter sorted that out well."

"Did he feel it necessary to find Lady Rillys a husband?" asked Libethra.

T'lana blinked.

"No, of course not; it's none of his business! As it happens she's found one for herself – a good man and a steady support to her, he's a dragonless man – since she took over."

Libethra stared moodily at the ground, absently decapitating the tiny orange cloud-and-sunshine flowers with nervous gestures of her hand.

"Lord Bargen has strongly suggested that I need to remarry before I Hold for Tefanny so I have a man to help me with decisions and back me up. He suggests someone not of the Blood so no future son could easily challenge Tefanny and any husband who would Hold for her."

"Errr" said T'lana. "I guess he means well."

"Oh he MEANS well. And the thing is, it won't be easy to be taken seriously as a woman alone" said Libethra bitterly.

"Shells and shards take the hidebound attitude of idiot men convinced that all virtue lies in the possession of excess tackle dangling in the trousers!" said T'lana vehemently.

Libethra chuckled.

"You Weyrfolk don't mince words, do you?" she said.

"I grew up breeding runnerbeasts" said T'lana. "When you've watched a stallion waving it vaguely in the direction of a mare who moves forward a step at a time as he thinks he's about to cover her, it does rather rob the act of union and its attendant equipment of a lot of romance."

Libethra thought about that, and managed a wry chuckle.

"I can't say that my own marriage was exactly filled with romance or pleasure" she said. "I accept that it is possible for women to get more out of men than babies; or people like Zantiffi wouldn't have lovers. But the whole grunting, sweating and snoring business and the discomfort from my point of view puts me off the idea of remarriage a little. Not that Tefan ever was deliberately unkind; and he certainly never beat me. I should have hit him back" she added candidly "But nor was he what you might call considerate of my feelings. But on the other hand I don't want to be responsible for robbing Tefanny of her birthright."

"And no more do you want her forced into picking a husband who's 'good enough' as soon as she's of age?"

"Exactly."

"I've a suggestion for what it's worth, Libethra" T'lana said. "Ask Bargen for more time; and come to the Weyr for a while. It'll be a break from snide types like Zantiffi; and you could take a lover or two just to see what you're looking for in a man without anyone turning a hair. It seems to me that you have an unusually strong mind; and it's my guess you'd want a man worthy of you. Your ex husband sounds like someone described to a colleague of mine – H'llon, actually – as 'like a bump on a log'; that is, it doesn't do anything but you can't shift it." H'llon and R'cal had recounted their adventure to the others of course as another of the strange motives to killing that could seem trivial to outsiders but was very real to the one at the centre of the situation.

Libethra gave a rather shaky laugh.

"That's Tefan all right. What happened about this other 'bump'?"

T'lana shrugged.

"His wife killed him."

"Poor fellow. Poor woman."

"Yes, in many ways. It must be very frustrating."

Libethra nodded vigorously.

"It is!"

"And you don't want to be lumbered with the same problem all over of course."

"What if I fall for a dragonman?" asked Libethra.

"All Bargen wants is for you to have male backup. I know we try to keep 'Hold to Hold and Weyr to Weyr' but he's reasonable. If you fell for a dragonman and he for you, I'm sure that an outposting to Pars could be arranged. It's not as though you were actually the Lady Holder needing to produce an heir. It's not very proper but…." T'lana wrinkled her nose.

"You don't approve."

"No, I don't; but that doesn't mean that I wouldn't understand. It's not like a Queenrider flaunting her obnoxious Lord Holder lover."

"Kylara and Meron have done a lot to make flexibility impolitic I guess."

"Yes. Two less than perfect beings did rather put a taboo on the whole affair I'm afraid. But rules are meant to be bent – IF it happens. Don't go borrowing trouble, for goodness sake, Libethra – there's enough trouble on Pern without more springing from your imagination!"

Libethra embraced the little weyrwoman, then pulled back.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Queenrider!"

"Don't be. And if you're staying with us it's T'lana'" said the girl. "You belong in a Weyr, you've no fear of dragons or flying at all. And speaking of which" she pulled a face "It's time to get back. I have duties."

She noted as she summoned Mirrith that Libethra's hands went automatically to touch her ears; as they had when she had asked Mirrith to bring them here in the first place.

Tough, perhaps on Tefanny; but T'lana never turned down potential talent. And Libethra had shown uncommon good sense and a protective nature in her treatment of the girl Cari and in bringing her to the Weyr for her name to be cleared! Tefanny might never be Lady Holder; she might just end up Weyrbred instead!


	10. Chapter 10

**10 Paperchase**

Holder Velgan of Sweetmeadow Hold was distraught;his hand holding the mug of klah T'lana had pressed upon him was shaking.

"I don't understand it! I don't understand why she did it!" he repeated again and again.

"Take it easy, Holder Velgan" T'lana said gently. "Tell us about it in your own words."

The Holder had sent his firelizard with a note requesting to be allowed to talk to 'the clever people who work things out'; as a result D're, technically a smokeless weyrling, had been sent out to collect him. D're being steady had been permitted to start flying _Between_ by R'gar and was thrilled to have a responsible job. Holder Velgan had been able to thank the young man but it was doubtful that he took in the honour of having a Bronze Rider – even if the Bronze dragon was only three quarters grown – to pick him up. At T'lana's suggestion to tell his tale he shook his head as though to clear his thoughts, like a man who had received a blow to the head. The blow was, T'lana suspected, to his spirits rather than a physical one.

"Haven't shared a room with Gelina – m'wife – for some time" he said. "Problems. I can't …..you know."

The logicators nodded sympathetically and made the right noises, the men secure in their own ability to perform, the women – those that had weyrmates – smug in the performance of their men. Impotence was a problem to sympathise with sincerely! Velgan went on,

"I never thought I did anything to make her unhappy. Knew she had lovers – preferred not to see much, but knew they existed, you know?" he paused again. "She was….jumpy. unhappy. Almost….scared. only way I can describe it. Asked her what was wrong. She laughed. Mad little laugh. You know. Said nothing was wrong. Must have been though; after this, it shows it, you know?" tears rolled down his face.

"After what?" T'lana asked quietly.

"Didn't I say? Oh dear! She – she's killed herself. Overdose of fellis. Found her this morning" he broke down.

T'lana let him sob for a while then touched his arm gently.

"Did she have any…..I hate to use so strong a word as enemies, but those who might wish her harm?" she asked "That might have driven her to so drastic a course of action?"

He shook his head.

"No…..no! I'm sure not

"Ex lovers jealousies causing problems?"

"I don't think so….she picked itinerant craftsmen, stable boys….those that could have no expectation of marrying her or who would cause much stir….she was considerate to me that way."

"Did she know you were aware of her lovers?"

He stared, bewildered.

"I don't know….it was never mentioned. I assume she must have known I knew….please find out why she has done this!"

T'lana nodded.

"H'llon, you and Zaira go look at her room – and the body if you're able. Report back."

H'llon nodded solemnly. He was glad that Zaira was to go with him. Examining a lady's room – and potentially her body – made him uncomfortable.

Lady Gelina still lay on her bed. Velgan had touched nothing, he assured H'llon, and moved nothing, save in the checking if his wife still lived and picking up the mug of fellis to sniff it for confirmation of his worst fears. H'llon too checked the mug; its pungent scent was masked in the room by other, less pleasant smells caused by the relaxation of muscles at death. He briefly considered the concept that the Lady Gelina had been poisoned by her husband, or killed in some other wise, the mug of fellis introduced afterwards to confuse the issue; but to his mind the man's grief was genuine enough. Besides, he had no need to call in the logicators. Gelina's personal drudge and the Hold aunties would verify finding the fellis and nothing more would be said. He said as much to Zaira when Velgan had hastily left them to it.

"Always suspect the nearest and dearest when there's a sudden death, huh?" asked Zaira.

"It's the people who are closest who find the most reasons on a daily basis" said H'llon seriously "Or so it appears to me. Renegades are a convenient scapegoat for murders but if you review all our cases, you will find that most killings are done by close relatives."

"I don't doubt your theory. I'm glad you're big enough, my love, to recognise that it doesn't always work that way and be open minded if the facts don't fit."

"Anyone who makes facts fit his theory is a poor logicator" said H'llon.

"True. Now you look around the room and I'll strip and examine her" said Zira.

Rigor was well developed, as Zaira told H'llon; and the mouth as well as the mug smelled of fellis, indicating that the mug had not been left as a blind by any party.

"I see no signs of pregnancy" said Zaira "Such as might have been a Shame upon a woman no longer enjoying marital relations with her husband; besides, I see you have found the dirty linen basket and soiled sanitary garments."

"I'm glad I'm not a woman" said H'llon with feeling.

He moved on from the linen basket, and started examining a chest.

"This has been repaired quite nicely recently" he remarked. "The repair is better than the original build."

Zaira sighed.

"DEAR H'llon" she said "We're looking for clues. I know you take a professional interest…."

H'llon grinned ruefully.

"I like to see a job well done. And though it's not first rate, it is extremely competent" he left the chest to continue the search.

His gaze was arrested by the grate; and he knelt down.

"Ashes at this time of year?" he wondered "And it was a warm night…why, she's been burning paper!"

"PAPER? Why?" Zaira was alert. Only important documents were written on paper, not casual things to be burned. Not, at least, by most folk. Disposable notes would be scrawled on cloth, or on scraps of hide that really would not take any more scraping.

H'llon attempted to lift the ashes, but they started to crumble and he stopped immediately.

"I can see some words" he said "- burned white on the black. Write them down for me as I decipher them."

Zaira got out a notebook of small leaves. High Reaches Logicators DID treat paper as a disposable asset since H'llon made so much, and wrote up scribbled notes on finer paper for storage in the logicator archive held by the Harperweyr. Though their notebooks did find a secondary use in the Necessary before disposal, and were voted far more convenient that washing out rags by the rest of the weyr.

H'llon read carefully.

"'If' – there's a big space – 'don't g' – I guess that's give; next line, 'me'; next line 'tell'; next line 'we did' next line 'husband' final line 'or else'."

Zaira wrinkled her nose.

"It doesn't make much sense."

"It's mostly the words down one side and at the top; the middle's burned to white ash, and the right hand side is curled and crumbling."

Zaira came and looked, and wrote it out on a fresh sheet to study as it appeared.

**if ... don't gi **

**me **

**tell**

**husband**

**or else.**

"Sounds threatening to me" she said.

"Yes. To me too" said H'llon, worried.

The two weyrmates went down to find Holder Velgan.

H'llon asked bluntly,

"Do you know if your wife received any letter from anyone?"

The Holder looked confused.

"Letters? No I don't think so, no runners have been in carrying messages lately. But some of her girl friends have firelizards – as do I of course" he affectionately stroked the poll of his little green lizard "- so she might have been sent something by firelizard. They say some are clever enough and well enough trained to carry messages. My little Polla can only manage to take them to people she knows well…..why?"

"Yes, greens can be a little flighty" said H'llon. "There was a letter we found burned in the grate. We couldn't make much out; but it seemed…threatening."

"Who would threaten my lovely Gelina? She never harmed anyone!" wondered the distraught man.

"We're working on that" said H'llon, grimly. "But it would seem that the letter is the probable cause of her suicide; we shall not leave it at this, Holder Velgan, we shall track down the writer of the note, though I cannot say how soon it may be that we are able to find more. You can have the amenities and obsequies seen to if you wish though; we need no more from the body. Our deepest sympathy on your loss."

Holder Velgan bowed in thanks, too overcome to speak.

oOo

H'llon and Zaira reported to T'lana, who listened carefully and whistled in surprise.

"Paper?" hmm. Not a common commodity" commented the little weyrwoman. "Available to the Ranking, weyrfolk, Harpers and woodcrafters. And that's about it. Though I had an idea that you might do well selling some leaves at the weyr craftstall" she added.

"That's a thought" said H'llon. "People like to jot down new songs, and to sketch, as well as making more mundane notes. But I thought the use of paper seemed odd."

"I agree that the message looks like threats" said T'lana. "The 'or else' is a bit of a giveaway. Though I suppose anyone in a position to sneak after people's secrets to threaten them might also be in a position to steal leaves of paper."

"Sneak after people's secrets?" queried Zaira "What do you mean?"

"When I was a child" said T'lana "There was an unpleasant old woman who spied on people. She would whisper things like 'I seen you with so-and-so' to people – married people in unhappy unions, often with paramours – and she'd add 'give me some eggs – or milk- or whatever – and I'll forget it. Or else.' It's the 'or else' that made me think of it."

"Old hag!" commented Zaira. T'lana shrugged.

"They exist. Her son was a wastrel who didn't care for her properly; he never wed, preferred loving wenches. No daughters, no aunties, no family but him. I guess that's how it began in earnest, though people who do spy enjoy it for its own sake, or for the power it gives them over people. She made a lot of people miserable until one woman stood up to her and told the whole of the cotholders what Mazilla – the hag – had said. Of course, a lot of other people then admitted to it too, claiming she was nothing but a liar but that they'd paid up because they were afraid of not being believed. No smoke without fire, you know; in a cothold community, rumour can destroy a reputation. In Holds too, I imagine or crafthalls. And it was more comfortable for everyone to make the tacit pact that Mazilla was a liar than admit their own faults in order to point the finger at others. From what I recall, she was spot on most of the time, though" added T'lana thoughtfully. "I guess in some ways I learned a lot about logicating from watching her."

"Ugh!" commented Zaira.

"I was too little to understand really what was going on; it was a game" said T'lana, half apologetically.

"What do we do now?" asked H'llon. "I told Holder Velgan we'd try to find the author of that note, but I don't see where to start."

"Do? You go back and ask the man exactly what visitors his Hold had over the last three months – not casual ones, those who might have had opportunity to speak to the Lady Gelina or to visit her room. Those who whisper poison rarely wait long to do so."

H'llon nodded; and was off.

"Frankly, we've little chance of getting further" said T'lana to Zaira "Unless the creep tries it on with somebody else- someone who comes to us to complain of it."

"If they don't?"

"Then I suppose we must wait for someone else to commit suicide and check who visited them." Said T'lana.

"That sounds cold blooded."

T'lana touched her face.

"Dear one, if I don't make myself cold blooded about some of the things we investigate I get upset. And that upsets Mirrith. And our primary job is, after all, to stay calm and fight Thread" she explained.

H'llon returned before long with a list.

"Velgan wasn't sure about times or dates" he said apologetically. "He wasn't even that sure about people. I had to keep prompting, but I don't think I put words in his mouth; I used words like 'relatives' and 'girl friends' and 'craftsmen'."

"That's scarcely putting words in his mout, dear one" said T'lana, taking the list from him. Being H'llon, it was neatly divided into kinds of people. The first category was 'female friends'. T'lana scanned it.

"Her sister Gelra – highly unlikely. She'd use speech to hint poison, not a note if it were she, claiming sister's privilege to see her. Zeleika. Zeleika gets about, doesn't she!"

"You're not seriously suggesting her, are you?" asked Zaira, sharply. "She's a friend of Rillys, and Rillys is no fool to pick a false friend."

"Yes, I know. She's also footloose and fancy free. No, I'm not seriously suggesting her – but she does get about. She might have been told something by other victims, which might provide a shortcut to our searching."

"But there might not be any other victims" said H'llon.

T'lana shook her head.

"These people never stop at one. It's called blackmail. Look at your Holmes – Charles Augustus Milverton in the scandal in Bohemia Hold. And it's mentioned obliquely in the Charter too, I checked it up in the Harperweyr copy, it's clearer than the Weyr copy."

H'llon nodded.

"Of course! The Bohemia case had some dirty cases mentioned in it. Not enjoyable to read at all."

"Crime IS dirty, dear one" said T'lana. "Who else is on this list….Lady Bellanda and party, being a distant connection of the Lady; somehow the idea of B'lova's mother sneaking around in the passageways spying has a bizarre and unnatural ring to it."

H'llon and Zaira laughed at that idea!

T'lana read on into the next list.

"Itinerant journeymen. Several of these and all, by Holder Velgan's suggestions potential lovers. Incidentally, and speaking of lovers, if it's an ex lover who is a stable boy, say, he'd not stop at the lady, but would try it on with the servants and other holderfolk as well. We should get M'gol to wander in and ask questions; he's good with serving wenches."

"Not now he's weyring with J'nara" quipped Zaira.

"Minx. You know what I mean" T'lana looked thoughtful. "Who have we here, anyway… a runnerbeast trader, selling, long standing order. A Harper, message for Hold Harper from the Harper Hall, new songs. A woodcrafter, mending the chest in Lady Gelina's room. A glasscrafter, replenishing a set of glasses to match the remaining ones that had been an espousal gift. Finally, a weaver, measuring rooms for new tapestries, two matching showing the local fauna and flora – expensive" she added.

M'gol, accompanied by J'nara, visited the Hold; and with their knots not on display managed to convey the impression that they were personal drudges of the weyrfolk who had been visiting so much since the Lady's demise. M'gol told a few slightly scurrilous tales of weyr life to gain the confidence of the men, and J'nara spun romantic stories for the women. M'gol winked a lot, and J'nara looked winsome; and though the tale – heavily hinted at and not alluded to directly – of the Lady's involvement with a particular groom emerged, no-one seemed aware of any threats or blackmail.

The pair reported in the negative.

"Well, that possibility is ruled out" said T'lana "Leaving the visitors. M'gol, you know Zeleika, don't you?"

"I've a nodding acquaintance."

"I'd be obliged if you could find out where the dizzy wench is right now and invite her on my behalf on a visit to the Weyr."

"Do my best!" M'gol gave a wink and a grin to his milk-brother's weyrmate and left on his quest.

J'nara muttered something about 'little boy'; but her censure of his manner lacked the bite of old!

Zeleika was a little nervous at M'gol's charmingly-worded but forceful invitation that was in effect a summons. She knew T'lana slightly, having been introduced by Rillys at her friend's espousal ceremony to the dragonless man, Corbin. She found the red-haired weyrwoman a trifle intimidating in her positive and forceful personality; herself quite forceful, Zeleika was unused to finding women so positive outside the Weyr. Consequently the Holder woman gave a deferential bob of the head when she came into T'lana's room, though she had sworn to herself she would not do so!

T'lana smiled warmly.

"Come and sit down, Zeleika. I've klah here. I do apologise for, well, summoning you in so peremptory a way, I hope you're not offended."

"No – no, not at all" Zeleika found herself swept along by the personality of the little weyrwoman and felt her momentary resentment ebb away under her friendliness. T'lana went on,

"In truth, Zeleika, I need your help; but being pregnant I can't stir from the Weyr – not going _Between_ anyway – so I asked M'gol if he'd mind asking you to visit."

"I – I'm delighted to be of any help I can be to the Weyr!" Zeleika, rather vain, was flattered. "It's an honour to be invited to the Weyr!" that was also true; Zeleika did enjoy her vicarious relations with the weyrfolk – and now she had a personal connection! T'lana smiled privately at the thought of the socially active Zeleika scoring points over some woman she disliked by dropping casually into conversation something like 'well when I was last talking to Queenrider T'lana….'.

"Rillys has told me how kind you are!" said the little weyrwoman "And I know that you know so many people around the High Reaches and Nabol region. The truth is, we believe that somebody is threatening Ranking people – maybe just ladies – with revealing their secrets. One lady has committed suicide; an acquaintance of yours. And we want to stop it."

Zeleika looked horrified.

"How terrible! Who has been driven to take her own life?"

T'lana hesitated.

"I am discreet" said Zeleika "And you said it was an acquaintance…. I would surely find out anyway some time."

"I'm sorry. Of course you are discreet. It was Lady Gelina of Sweetmeadow."

"Great Shells!" Zeleika was stunned. "But what could anyone find to threaten Gelina with?"

"Lovers. Specifically, I think, the blackmailer himself" said T'lana, dourly.

"But Velgan must have known!"

"And suppose Gelina thought he didn't know? Was she as fond of him as he appears to have been of her?"

"Oh yes, she was extremely fond of him; she asked my advice on…..matters to help him, as I'm well known to be…..experienced with men" said Zeleika, flushing slightly. "She hoped to have a relationship with him rather than lovers….but that was some turns back and nothing I could suggest had the required effect" she shrugged. "For some men an inability to perform is in their heads, and that you can fix with a few judicious….love games. For those for whom it is a physical problem, there's no cure I know of. But she'd hate to hurt him, if she thought him ignorant of her er, activities. But how can I help?"

"You helped me generally already by telling me some men with such problems can be helped….we don't have such problems when dragons are involved but it might come in handy. I wonder if it would have helped if she had had a blue firelizard to mate with his green?" wondered T'lana, sidetracked into helping with other problems.

"I never thought of that" said Zeleika. "IS it like dragonlust then?"

"We-ell, kind of…it's not so strong, you can put it to the back of your mind, just experience some, uh, physical manifestations of the backwash of lust…..but you can't ignore it when your dragon is involved. You ARE the dragon. You can touch THROUGH the firelizard. It gives some idea" T'lana explained. "But back to the business in hand; what I would like you to do is to think of all the places you've been to recently, visiting; you're almost as peripatetic as a Holdless trader, and that's to our advantage. I want you to think if your friends and acquaintances have been under any strain – upset or nervous. I guess it's too much to hope any would have confided in you over receiving nasty threatening letters."

Zeleika frowned in thought.

"Well… yes, there have been a few…. Not that anyone has said anything outright….but recently – well, I've been at Highspire."

T'lana pulled a face.

"I've heard it's an unhappy Hold at the best of times."

Zeleika nodded.

"And all over silliness. Dalia and Dara. Dara, Trabin's wife, was fostered with me for a while – like Rillys. Dalia came with her as her milk sister. It's quite likely that they are also half sisters. You can imagine the jealousies that that can cause even before Dara married Trabin."

T'lana nodded.

"It's the fault of the parents of course" she said. "If they'd been brought up with a little more care they could have been friends."

Zeleika sighed.

"They are. Sometimes" she said. "They have this peculiar relationship – loving and hating each other in almost equal measure. I do not suppose for one moment they'd have got to this ridiculous state if Trabin's daughter Trassela hadn't resented her father remarrying. Without giving them a chance to make friends with her she started causing trouble. Such a pity; I've been trying to patch things up between them" she shrugged self deprecatingly.

"I wish you the very best of luck in that endeavour!" said T'lana fervently. "There's a 'But' in there though, isn't there? That is pertinent to my queries?"

Zeleika nodded.

"It's Dalia. She's frightened of something."

T'lana gave a grin of satisfaction.

"Good. I mean, I'm sorry."

Zeleika smiled suddenly.

"You mean 'good'" she said. "That answers a question I've sometimes asked myself – whether you really are so straightforward and frank as you appear, or just very good at manipulating people."

T'lana blushed.

"Manipulating people? Hey, I know I'm bossy – it goes with the territory of being a Queenrider – but I don't think I've ever done that. It sounds kind of devious."

"So I see. It's nice to know there are genuine people about. Oh, shells, I guess I shouldn't have spoken like that to a weyrwoman!" she suddenly covered her mouth with her hands.

T'lana laughed.

"I'm glad you did. I like straightforwardness too!" she grinned; then pulled a grimace. "I REALLY want to go to Highspire. Still, it's not so far Straight flight, not really. By the time you've got up you're coming down as the old uncle complained to the loving wench. And if I don't tell anyone before I go, they can't forbid me" she gave a conspiratorial grin. "C'mon, let's go, and we can be back in time for supper. Which will be worth it; because Keerana's trying a new recipe for peppercorn sauce from Ista to go with roast herdbeast and there are the earliest of new tubers from southern Nabol."

Zeleika knew that to ride on a Golden Queen dragon was a pinnacle of social success! Besides, she was genuinely glad that T'lana might just be able to help her friend – both her friends, she thought, for she liked both Dara and Dalia and had mediated between them more than once in the girls' dormitory in her father's Hold.

Dalia was inclined to be truculent at the interference of weyrfolk in her life; but Zeleika was firm.

"Dalia, T'lana can help you. Tell her, weyrwoman T'lana."

T'lana smiled reassuringly.

"Dalia – I have reason to think that someone has written you a letter suggesting that you pay for information about you not to be passed on."

Dalia went white.

"What have you been saying?" she cried to Zeleika.

"Only what I was asked – which of my friends seemed frightened. I want to HELP you."

There was a rustle of a hanging, a fine piece of brocade depicting a mating flight surrounded by swags of indeterminate foliage with arrow shaped leaves. A woman not unlike Dalia came through the door concealed by the hanging. Such hangings kept a lot of draughts out in the cold High Reaches winters!

"I overheard that last conversation" said the woman, who had to be Dara. "If you've received unpleasant letters too, Dalia, let us get it stopped now."

"Too?" the Holder's mistress blinked.

Dara came forward.

"Too" she reiterated. "I thought it was some prank of Trassela's. But if a weyrwoman is involved I imagine there's more to it than that."

T'lana regarded her gravely.

"A woman has died by her own hand because of the person who sends these letters. I am asking both of you to tell me what you know."

Dara threw herself onto a sofa and patted the seat beside her, looking at Dalia. After a moment's hesitation the other woman sat down beside her. Dara slipped an arm through her half sister's.

"The letter suggested that since my husband looked elsewhere for his entertainment that I had done so too. The guess was well off the mark. The writer suggested the Hold Harper because I'm learning a lot from him – and he suggested more than simple fingering."

Dalia said quickly

"But that's impossible!"

Dara chuckled.

"Exactly. But Trassela's so straight-laced I thought it might not have occurred to her – when I thought it was Trassela. Obviously an outsider would not know."

T'lana raised an enquiring eyebrow; and Dara explained, giggling.

"Allusend only likes other men. I don't mind telling you, because weyrfolk don't mind. And Zeleika's no innocent girl to be shocked."

"I'll take that as a compliment" said Zeleika.

"Did you show your husband the letter?" asked T'lana.

"Are you joking? It was filthy. And remember, I thought Trasseela was the perpetrator. It would hurt Trabin if he had found out she'd done something of that order. I burned it."

T'lana said a short, ugly, scatological word.

"I have the one written to me" said Dalia. "It frightened me. I'd done nothing serious, but I didn't know if Trabin would understand…." She pulled a face. "I'll go get it."

She left the room for a few minutes and returned with a scrap of paper.

T'lana read it out loud.

"'Lady Dalia. If you do not give me fifty marks I will send the letter you received from Lord Cordet to Lord Trabin. You'd better pay up, or else. Put it in a bag at the next Hold Gather and leave it in behind the side pillar nearest the door.' Hm" said T'lana. "This gives a means of leaving the money that must have burned off the other one. If the worst comes to the worst we can catch him that way, red handed. Tell me about this letter from Lord Cordet."

Dalia gave a tight little laugh.

"Cordet's just a boy. He fell for me, puppy love. There was nothing in it; but he wrote me a wild and indiscreet note. I kept it because it was flattering. But I don't know HOW this – this PERSON could have found it!"

"Where did you keep it?"

"In a secret drawer in my clothes press. It's worked with a hidden catch. I keep the contraceptive herbs there too, to make sure I don't have a child before Dara conceives."

Dara touched her arm.

"Thank you; that's really considerate" she said. Dalia smiled at her.

T'lana was looking quizzically at the Holder's mistress.

"Tell me, have you had any work, repair work, done in the Hold recently?" she asked.

The women exchanged glances, rather embarrassed.

"There was some repair work to chairs" said Dalia in a small voice.

"Extensive repairs" added Dara, dryly. "Our respective….partisans…came to blows."

"Oh really, how ridiculous!" exploded Zeleika. "It's an example of what I've been saying to you all along! You two are making Trabin and Highspire quite laughable!"

Both women looked uncomfortable; and with one accord turned their eyes on T'lana, to confirm what Zeleika said.

"It is a matter of unkind and ribald gossip" she said, bluntly. "One of our people experienced it first hand – and might have suffered fatal accident – when one of your partisans sought to trip the servant of the other with a tripwire on stairs. A dangerous and childish prank for a grown man, and by – my friend's – comments possibly the spoiled and pampered catamite of your Harper, or one of similar ilk."

The women exchanged glances again.

"Vardek!" they said with one voice.

"I will speak to him about such pranks" said Dara grimly. "But believe me, I never meant to hurt Trabin!"

"Nor I!" his mistress concurred.

They turned again to T'lana. Their expressions plainly asked for her to fix it.

"Right!" said the Queenrider crisply. "We are agreed, I think, that at bottom you want to be fond of each other – but each has got it into her head that she has cause for jealously of the other?"

They looked sheepishly at each other; and nodded.

"Then first you must talk through what each envies in the other. In private; and NO raised voices. Then, I suggest, you BOTH go to bed with Holder Trabin with the intention of pleasing him."

"Both?" Dara was scandalised.

"Together?" so was Dalia.

"Why not? If you share him together there's going to be no room for jealousy. And the Charter makes no mention of how many spouses a man can have; a fact, if you recall, Fax exploited. If Dalia weds him too, you will be equals and no room for any malicious gossip. And having reached agreement, you can discuss how to sort out your warring supporters. There's a drudge here named Clemelly who has, I'm told, uncommon good sense. Get her to help; and the steward, who holds himself aloof from faction fighting. And the Weyr can help by broadcasting how helpful the pair of you were to pretend to be at loggerheads in order to tempt the blackmailer in; and that saves face all around."

"It's brilliant!" ventured Zeleika.

Her friends looked at her dubiously; then at each other. There was an unspoken conversation, and an embrace.

"But can we?" asked Dalia "Help catch him, I mean?"

T'lana nodded.

"Oh you have. I know who it is now. It might have been almost anyone capable of pumping maids to get ordinary gossip – but not to purloin a letter. That had to have been removed by someone who understood furniture – and the manufacture of secret drawers."

"Journeyman Revis the woodcrafter!" gasped Dara. "He tried to flirt with me too, the little creep!"

"Indeed. And a woodcrafter was at the Hold where another incident took place. You have now supplied me with his name. I already wondered about a woodcrafter, since he is one of four types of people with free access to paper. Others could conceivably have stolen it; but the coincidence of mended woodwork and the opening of a secret drawer makes me certain."

H'llon was furious when T'lana told the other logicators of her deductions; but she refused to let him be the one to find Journeyman Revis.

"You might get….overwrought, dear one" she said. "You shall report to Master Bendarek when it has been proven. If indeed I am correct."

M'gol sought permission from Lord Bargen to have the itinerant crafter's quarters searched when he could be traced; and hearing the history, the Lord Holder readily sent one of his men and the Harper Samwil to see justice served.

Revis was in the act of writing one of his nasty letters when the three men kicked down his door at the Hold where he was then working; as it happened, Riverbend, so they had also the full cooperation of Holder Marlov.

Bargen could find no reason for mercy towards such a spreader of misery; and handed out the rare death sentence, though asking Bendarek to ratify it as a matter of courtesy.

Bendarek, filled in by H'llon, endorsed the sentence grimly with the comment,

"Crafters are supposed to be trustworthy and discreet when working in other folk's holds."

H'llon was satisfied that justice had been done too.

"That fellow is worse in many ways than a murderer!" the young woodcrafter declared hotly. "For he drags out a misery and inflicts fear that causes little deaths of the spirit over and over!"

"And I say" said T'lana "If we ever come across one who has killed such to be free of their tortures that we should in general terms account it no crime."

"Agreed" said H'llon!


	11. Chapter 11

**11 A Family Affair**

Zeleika was glad to leave her friends in a state of truce, or even friendship, and tactfully withdrew to the Weyr for an extended visit. The work of the logicators intrigued her; having no Hold to keep and no-one to please but herself, (for she had a manager to care for her runnerbeasts) and enough wealth to do so could sometimes be boring. Not that Zeleika would ever admit that, even to herself; but it was why she enjoyed interfering in the lives of her friends, as in the case of trying to mend the differences between Dara and Dalia. Rather more diffidently than was her wont she asked about logicating; and to her surprise and delight was welcomed freely to take part.

T'lana explained,

"The wider the experience of the team, the more efficient we are. And you are able to learn things as a Ranking woman that we may have difficulty with, even those of us who technically bear social Rank. And you're a good observer."

To R'gar, the little weyrwoman said privately,

"Zeleika is not the cleverest of women; but she is a shrewd one. And a nosy one too."

"It takes one to know one!" teased R'gar of the latter assessment; and T'lana pummelled him cheerfully! T'lana was in a happy mood, for she had 'tuned in' to Segrith's latest mating flight, quelling her love's concerns over the risk to her baby by his involvement though Laranth in dragonlust. It was not that T'lana did not appreciate being cared for, or being worried about. She merely hated the feeling of being weaker than usual. She was being, she felt, quite sensible; this pregnancy was making her feel quite unwell, so she was taking it relatively easy. But she did not want to be treated as an invalid!

Zeleika left the Weyr shortly after the mating flight, not wanting to outstay her welcome and therefore hopeful that she might be invited back again; but before she left she was able to welcome the Lady Katha, for it had been Zeleika who had suggested to Kaili that Katha should be advised to try for Impression.

It was not long before Zeleika returned; a scant few days after she had been dropped off at the Hold of her request by B'lova.

"T'lana" Zeleika was breathless and a Hold's smokeless weyrling hovered behind her. "There's trouble."

T'lana could see at a glance that her new friend was upset; and managed to suppress the flash of interest to her face, replacing it with grave concern.

"Tell me."

"I decided to make a courtesy call to an old friend of my late husband" explained Zeleika. "A man named Marek at Threewoods Hold" she twisted her hands together. "I was more or less expected, he was holding his Hold's Gather and I had a runnerbeast entered at the races, the jockey and his support team had ridden up there some sevenday before. And he's been killed. Marek, that is, not my jockey."

"Deliberately you mean?" T'lana was alert.

"Oh yes. A knife across his throat seems deliberate enough. This young rider wants to go to Lord Deckter, but I persuaded him to come here first. He didn't take too much persuading."

T'lana nodded at the lad, one of the younger Riders from Tamalenth's last clutch some turn and three quarters previously, deemed too young to deal with his Green dragon's sexual maturity and stationed out for his own protection.

"Go to Lord Deckter, Tr'vor. I'll take Lady Zeleika with me. Threewoods is only about half an hour Straight, it's not that far from Sarel's cot. H'llon buys seasoned wood from the Woodcrafters there. Tell Lord Deckter I'll be there."

Tr'vor nodded wordlessly; and did as he was bid.

Zeleika explained further.

"Marek made sure all his family was there – his nephew and HIS wife live out of the Hold in their own cot – because he was planning to declare his heir at the Gather. But before people could arrive, he was dead!"

"So there's no chance it could have been some person from the Gather?"

"No. Yesterday was Fall, as you know; I went out to check on my beasts and men and saw Mirrith flying a check over the forests. I waved, but I don't think you saw me."

T'lana shook her head.

"I'm sorry. I usually wave back if people greet me – and Mirrith usually alerts me if I miss a wave – but it's difficult to recognise individuals that far up. And as you surmised I was concentrating on the small Woodcraft Hall at Threewoods. People weren't coming before Fall then?"

Zeleika shook her head.

"Abren - my jockey - and his team get more courtesy than most because of Marek's friendship with Barnil – my late husband. Though it hosts woodcrafters, Threewoods is not wealthy enough for many guests on a protracted stay. It's potentially the wealthiest Hold in the region, excepting maybe Northfork, but Marek sunk a lot of marks into getting a woodcrafter hall started. The Gather was just a one day event, mostly to be attended by locals, outlying cotholders. The races are small, not worth the time of big breeders like Tragen, though Sarel sometimes enters beasts. Again it was for the sake of friendship that I sent Abren, and because he's just a lad, and it would give him valuable experience to race at a small meeting. Shells, I don't know what's to happen, Marek dead and of the potential heirs, all of them suspects in his killing!"

"Best if everything carries on as normal" said T'lana. "Gathers, once organised, have their own momentum, and we shall be there behind the scenes checking out what's really happened. So, let me get this straight; there was Fall; and between then and now – about fourteen hours – Marek was murdered. Is that correct?"

Zeleika nodded.

"We all slept heavily. Too heavily. I think we were drugged. In the morning he was there on his bed with his throat slit. Ciella found him and had hysterics. I can't say I blame her."

"His wife?"

"His mistress. His wife died long since. Ciella is ….. a lot younger than him" the Holder woman said carefully. "Though she's a widow. She has a son of some nine turns."

"Marek's?"

"No" Zeleika shook her head "Though I gather he was kind enough to Diccon. He was her husband's son. Ciella's husband was a woodcrafter, killed by a falling tree. Marek took her in, at first as a drudge because he was sorry for her. Later…."

T'lana nodded.

"Do you like her?"

Zeleika shifted a little uncomfortably.

"I – yes, I think so. She's behaved well towards Marek, I think, though she's not of our birth."

T'lana smiled.

"Nor am I, Zeleika. I'm a dragonman's bastard on a cotholder woman, reared by her tolerant husband – the same Sarel that you know slightly."

Zeleika flushed.

"I'm sorry, I meant no offence. I – I guess I meant it would be easy to exploit when you have a child to think of…."

"All I'm saying is, don't judge on birth, dear one. Now go on. Tell me who else was there for starters."

"Shells! Both his sons. His eldest, Mathas and his wife Dorlara; their children Thalara and Mathor. The younger son is Rekkal; he's unmarried. Likes his freedom.

T'lana raised an eyebrow. Zeleika shook her head.

"No, I'm not even considering him. When I remarry – if I do remarry – I'm planning on marrying someone who won't see my wealth as prettier than me and start eyeing up extra lovers as he dances at the wedding ceremony. Besides, I don't think Rekkal would be a good father. And I've a daughter of Barnil's fostered with a better mother than I'll ever be, but if I remarried I'd like to have her on long visits even if she prefers to stay in fosterage; and I'd assume any man would want me to produce sons for him."

That was news to T'lana, who had not realised that Zeleika's short lived marriage to her elderly husband had been productive.

"Why do you say he'd be a bad father?" she asked.

"I've seen him clout Diccon for one of his absurd practical jokes. The boy's addicted to them. No real harm in them, but annoying; apple pie beds, pepper in bubbly pies, you know the kind of thing."

"The normal puerile pranks a bored nine-turn-old with no companions his own age gets up to" nodded T'lana. "You can tell me about Mathas and his family in a moment; go on with who was there."

Zeleika nodded.

"Mara, Marek's widowed sister is by way of doing the job of Lady Holder; I think she despises Ciella. She doesn't do or say anything, but it's the WAY she doesn't do or say it!" she glanced at T'lana, who nodded understanding; and continued, "Her son Tasmar lives in the Hold too, he's shown no desire to hold a cot, or any responsible job for that matter, he just hangs on and loafs about on his uncle's good graces, pinching the behinds of the drudges and expecting good living for no hard work. That's all of them that reside under Threewoods main Hold roof. There were four of us visiting in the family quarters. Me, of course; another of Marek's nephews and potential heirs, Powel; and his wife Betta. Marek had not asked any of his other sister's kin, they were estranged. The only other guest was a visiting marksman who wanted to buy wood from the woodcraft hall, and got himself invited to stay in the family rooms for having news from all over, and the ability to play the gitar. Not so well as a Harper, but new music is always welcome I guess. His name is, let me think, Sivner."

"Give me word pictures of those you've not described?" T'lana knew Zeleika was a fair observer and accurate in her descriptions, though she might have hoped for the understatedly biting wit of Libethra!

Zeleika thoughr how best to sum people up.

"Mathas is a pompous little creep. Patronises Ciella and Diccon – it didn't make Marek love him any the better. He has no concept that anyone might be better than him as Holder, so somehow I can doubt him killing Marek solely because he'd not see the outcome of announcing the heir as being in doubt. His wife agrees with him. Dorlara ALWAYS agrees with her husband. She has the personality and spirit of one of F'nor's grubs."

T'lana chuckled; she knew the type. Zeleika was not entirely devoid of pithy humour in her descriptions!

Zeleika continued,

"Thalara's in her twenties. Heading for the shelf. But she has spirit, I'm sure, though she seems to accept her parents' edicts on the whole. I fancy she's found ways to get rid of suitors she doesn't like; it's not that hard. I did; Barnil was my choice" she sighed "If he had only been younger I think we might have had a very happy marriage. But I was wed to him for only four months, and two of those he was ill."

T'lana put a hand on her arm; and the young widow smiled sadly. "Barvan, my stepson, has been very good to me, but I'm glad Barnil left me independent. I don't have to be an auntie to stepgrandchildren before I've finished living!" she said. "And his aunt fosters my Nilleika happily, and she'll have nieces and nephews to grow up with. But enough of me; back to Thalara. She and Ciella pass the occasional friendly looks, so I think Thalara at least appreciates what Ciella has done for her grandfather. Her brother, on the other hand, is seventeen going on forty seven. He's a prig and he whines. If there's any trouble he can make for his sister and sneak whilst looking virtuous for 'bringing it to his father's attention' the little beast will. If he knows how to have fun I've never seen the evidence, but he resents anyone else being happy I wager."

T'lana nodded. A preliminary picture of the family was building up.

"Powel and Betta?" she asked.

"Powel's a younger version of Mathas, though he'd not believe it if you told him. He's sleeker, though – more suave. For instance, where Mathas would call Ciella by hard names, Powel would laugh and make a comment that sounded like a compliment until you analysed it. Everything he says has two edges and a concealed barb. And Betta is cleverer than Dorlara, though that's not hard. She truly supports her husband, not merely agreeing with everything he says. I dislike Betta intensely. She acts foolish, but she isn't. She's pure poison" she flushed. "That could be misconstrued."

T'lana waved a hand.

"I want impressions. That gives me one. You'd better give me your impression of this musical marksman as well while you're at it" she added.

"He's an odd looking fellow; he has a beard and moustache like D're, and hair cut any old how. He's clean enough, at least. He's not too chatty, beyond telling the news that got him in at the first; perhaps he doesn't try the sales patter when he's buying. More than that I can't tell you; he obliged with a few tunes, then put his gitar away and has kept himself to himself since. Self effacing, almost once his news and tunes are exhausted. I guess he was scared of putting himself forward amongst Ranking folk; I had to remind him that he had said he could play."

T'lana nodded and bespoke both Mirrith and Melth. It seemed a good idea to get H'llon to ask questions of the woodcrafters at the Hall.

Lord Deckter met T'lana as the Gather swung into action, most visitors to the Hold unaware of the drama in the Hold family quarters.

"Sounds bad" the Lord Holder said. "I'm glad you're here, cousin T'lana. For I can't appoint a new Holder from Marek's heirs until I know which are clear from suspicion."

T'lana stared at him thoughtfully.

"No" she said softly. "I suppose you can't. What will you do if I fail?"

Deckter laughed and slapped her on te shoulder.

"My dear little friend! I've never known you to fail yet!" he paused. "Seriously?" he asked.

"Seriously."

"I'd have, in fairness, to seek out his next nearest relative outside the suspects I suppose. Which would seem unfair to the innocent. Don't you fail me, T'lana."

"I can, as always, only do my best. But I've a few ideas….how about tracing those relatives anyway?"

Deckter shot her a look.

"What are you up to?"

"Playing for points, Weyr against Hold – as always, My Lord" said T'lana demurely.

"You have your secrets I suppose."

"I don't want to make a fool of myself by declaring any suspicions I may have about our precious heirs too quickly. I want facts; and I want to see for myself, not act on the description of Zeleika. I don't want to lose that reputation for infallibility. "

With that, the Lord Holder had to be content!

The family had drawn loosely together in the eating hall, united in adversity; a young woman and a boy seated off to one side, obviously Ciella and her son, an invisible wall between them and the rest. The solitary figure in the corner had to be the Marksman.

A tubby, middle-aged man bounced to his feet as Zeleika and T'lana came in.

"What-what-what?" he hooted. "Zeleika, this is the outside! We need no Weyr interference!"

"That's exactly right!" chimed in a vague looking woman, nasally.

T'lana looked the pair up and down, having no difficulty in recognising Mathas and his wife, Dorlara, from Zeleika's description. Merry scolded from her shoulder and T'lana absently petted the little creature as she stared at the pompous little man. He subsided slightly before her most quelling stare. At length she spoke.

"I am here not as Weyrfolk, Mathas, but at the request of my cousin, Lord Deckter" she paused to let that sink in; if Deckter liked to recall the distant connection between his mother's family and hers it might as well be of use. "He has asked me to investigate this sorry matter for him."

"What's to investigate?" blustered Mathas. "Our dear father was killed by that scheming woman that's been battening off him!" he flung a dramatic hand towards Ciella, who drew back at the venom in his voice. Her son stepped pugnaciously forward in front of her. T'lana caught his eye; and gave him a half-wink.

Deliberately she turned her head to follow the arm.

"Mmm" she said. "Good Mathas, if you think that statement through, does it not seem that to describe Mistress Ciella as 'scheming' does not sit well with the concept of her getting rid of her meal ticket, if one ascribes such motives to her? The two do not add up."

"He was going to throw her out I expect!" muttered Mathas sullenly.

"She's scheming!" said his wife.

"You wicked, ignorant old hag, at least I loved him for himself – and I knew I'd have nothing when he died!" Ciella said in a low intense voice. "I had no need to suck up to him like you parasites!"

"Tell 'em, mother!" said the boy.

Another chubby little man, similar in looks to Mathas, said,

"Ciella, you know that you have nothing to fear from or resent in the family if you truly loved my dear uncle."

The woman on whose shoulder he rested his hand opened her eyes wide as though in surprise.

"But of COURSE dear Ciella loved Uncle Marek, didn't you dear – or you'd not have prepared all his medicines for him as he got weaker!" she punctuated the end of her sentence with an irritating titter; and T'lana recalled Zeleika's description of Powel's wife Betta as poisonous.

A colourless looking woman spoke.

"I'm sure this is getting us no further forward" she said in an equally colourless voice. "The weyrwoman is going to want to ask us questions. Like who prepared the last thing's klah which drugged us all into sound sleep."

Ciella went white and her lips tightened to keep in angry comment.

T'lana glanced at the big fireplace and said cheerfully,

"Oh, I should imagine that whoever prepared the klah has little bearing on anything. After all, the klah kettle stands out easy to approach. Anyone could have drugged the klah, possibly even by drugging the kettle earlier."

"She'd have smelled it" said a sulky looking young man.

"Like you smelled it in your own klah?" said T'lana sweetly. He flushed. "I noticed on the midden discarded fellis" she went on. "It's my guess you've all been smelling fellis for days since the new boiling. When did you make it?" she asked the colourless woman, presumably Mara.

"During Fall. There was nothing better to do. And it doesn't stink the place out like numbweed" she replied sulkily.

"But it is still enough to numb the nose to other subtleties of smell" pointed out T'lana. "I should like to see the body. Have you moved it?"

The dead man's sister even managed to sound colourless when she said,

"I hope I know my duty. My brother has been laid out properly."

"A pity. Knowing that an investigation must ensue it seems that the obsequies have been observed with almost suspicious haste!" said T'lana coldly.

The sulky young man glowered.

"Are you accusing my mother of killing her own brother?" he demanded.

T'lana stared at him. It was a stare that quelled naughty candidates and weyrlings; and he cringed slightly under it.

"I'm not accusing anyone, Tasmar. But it COULD look suspiciously as though she were covering up for someone she is fond of."

The little weyrwoman swept out, leaving open mouths behind her.

The small boy Diccon ran after her.

"May I come, My Lady?" he asked. "They – they haven't let me see him to say farewell. Because I'm not his real kin."

T'lana laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Of course. As though being blood relations made any difference! I love my fosterlings as dearly as my own children" she added, "Tell me about Marek – the way YOU knew him."

"He was splendid. He couldn't do much active stuff any more, but he knew some smashing stories. And he- he helped me plan, um….."

"Pranks and jokes?"

"You knew?"

"Zeleika says you have a lively sense of humour. I take it Marek did too."

The boy nodded vigorously.

"He – he was used to say he couldn't understand how he came to have such a boring parcel of relations. Except the best of 'em who ran off with a bad 'un."

"That's the sister who's not here?"

Diccon nodded again.

"He says – said – Thalara's a bit like her. But the man she went with was a crook" he threw a look at T'lana. "THEY all think it was because he was low born, but Father Marek didn't give a hoot for that. It was because he didn't trust the man."

T'lana nodded.

"I wondered why an estrangement had continued. And if Marek thought him a bad lot….well, some things breed true" she said.

"What do you mean?" the boy asked curiously.

"Never mind. I was thinking out loud; bad habit of mine. This isn't going to be pretty, young Diccon."

The boy pulled himself up.

"I know."

Even so he was not prepared for the pallid corpse, its second, rough mouth gaping a mute protest in the neck, despite Mara's attempts to pull it together. Diccon swallowed hard to press back a dry heave; but could not so easily suppress a sob. T'lana put her arms around the child and as she intended the floodgates broke. He had been keeping strong for his mother; and scorned to show his grief before his tormentors. But the kindliness of the little weyrwoman broke through his reserves.

Diccon did not cry for long. He pulled himself away, scraped an arm across his eyes and straightened up.

"Thank you, My Lady" he said in a tight, oddly adult tone. "I must put this behind me now. I must be a man for my mother as she has no kin any more."

"You ever thought about being a woodcrafter like your father?" T'lana asked casually as she examined the corpse.

"They won't take me at the Hall here until I am Turned twelve."

"Really? No-one prepares the craftbred? Ah well, it's a young Hall I suppose, not used to the usual traditions….and to our advantage at the Weyr,"

"How's that?" he was interested, despite himself.

"Our Weyrwoodcrafter just sent one of his oldest apprentices to the Woodcrafter Hall at Lemos; and Telfer's almost ready too. He's only got one lad now, and preparing to take a fosterling of mine when she's a bit older. Radall, his apprentice, is about your age. If you're any good, our favourite journeyman has been grumbling about being short of apprentices." T'lana contacted Melth to explain to H'llon that he was grumbling.

"I've carved some pieces."

"Well, lad, he's here with me, talking to the people in the crafthall; if you'd like to get your pieces together he can assess them and you."

"But my mother; if I'm apprenticed I can't care for her" the light that had briefly lit his eyes died.

"But my dear boy! If you're accepted as weyrfolk, that means your dependants go to; that's the way it is. Same as it is – should be – in a crafthall" T'lana shrugged, making it matter of fact, and determining to have H'llon put in a complaint that Ciella and her son were not cared for by her husband's craft in the first place as was their Right. "Can you bear to look at this horrid wound and tell me what you think? You've some knowledge of tools and I'd like my own thoughts confirmed."

Swallowing hard, the boy looked.

"It – it goes in deep" he said. T'lana passed him her magnifying glass. "Raggedy?" he queried.

"It looks like a serrated blade to me. My guess is a kitchen knife – to hand and available to anyone. At least, young Diccon, it means no-one was trying to implicate YOU specifically."

He paled, looking questions.

"Your mother still has your father's tools of course?"

He nodded.

"You mean a saw…."

"Which would have made more mess and torn more. I'm sorry to inflict this on you – but however much you resent their desires to make you and your mother the scapegoats to cover their own fear, at least nobody is deliberately setting the two of you up to take the blame."

He nodded; again, a curiously adult gesture, and T'lana's heart went out to him.

"I appreciate knowing that" he said.

There was an interruption; the youngest woman in the family came in.

"Diccon, are you all right?" she asked.

He nodded.

"Yes, thank you Thalara."

"Are you bullying him, Weyrwoman? I can see teartracks. He's only a child, you know" she said accusingly. T'lana regarded her quizzically.

"At last. Concern for the one who by virtue of his age and position has suffered the most from this wicked deed" she said tartly. "Yes, he has cried. Your grandsire has stood in lieu of a father to him; and you think he'd cry in front of the enemy?"

Thalara flushed.

"He's not a bad kid" she said, half defensively. "And he was fond of grandfather."

"Yes. As I think were you."

Thalara glanced at the horrid object on the Hold laying-out table, then averted her eyes, nodding wordlessly.

T'lana went on,

"If you are not to despise yourself you MUST stand up for what you know is right, you know."

The girl reddened.

"You mean I should have spoken out more. It would have done no good."

"No. I mean that, whether it does anything or not, you must put your views over what should be done."

Thalara straightened; and nodded.

"Diccon, I suggest you go to your room, and you can wash your face there" she said. "I'll ask your mother to join you."

T'lana followed at a distance. The first voice that spoke when the young woman re-entered the dining cavern was whining; T'lana thought it belonged to Thalara's brother, whom she had not yet heard speak.

"Is Thally's pet a cry-baby then?" he asked.

There was a brief, sharp noise; and a cry of pain.

"Thalara!" Mathas' voice was petulant. "Apologise to your brother!"

Thalara's voice was quiet.

"Though I hit him less hard than I know he has hit a small boy for less offence? I think not. His manners are bad. If you are too weak to discipline him, father, I must do it for you."

"Thalara!" the voice was shocked.

"What a naughty girl you are. Do as your father says!" Dorlara's voice whined. "A girl must NEVER strike her brother, you can't compare it to his chastising that ill born brat."

"I will not" said Thalara "And nor will I go to my room, which you are about to order me to do, until I have had my say. Ciella, you may wish to leave and go find Diccon. He's in his room."

"I'll stay."

"As you wish. You complacent idiots – all of you" – T'lana could imagine the girl stabbing a forefinger around her relations " – Hope to lay the blame for this on Ciella because she's had the effrontery to make grandfather's last years more pleasant in return for no more than a comfortable lifestyle for her and her son. Whether she loved him or not is not the issue; though I'm inclined to think she did. What IS the issue is that she has remained faithful to him and nursed him and cheered him. And if you think I'm going to stand by while you complacent, sanctimonious ovines try to treat her badly and throw her out without scruple, you can think again. If need be, I'll lay her case before Lord Deckter to judge the lot of you over."

There was the sound of another, harder slap. It was not accompanied by any cry.

Thalara said,

"Hit me as often as you like, father. Beat me unconscious. But I will not betray the Blood you cite so often if I do not do what is right. Ciella is owed decent treatment."

"The slut is owed NOTHING!" pronounced a new voice, T'lana guessed Mathas' younger brother Rekkal. "I don't resent her trying it on with him and grabbing what she could. But he's dead; and I'll not watch her quickly lay with someone and foist some bastard on us as a supposed posthumous child!"

Ciella gasped in shock.

"Mm" said Thalara. "You would think of that, Uncle Rekkal, having no scruples or morals yourself. Don't think I haven't seen you watching her belly in case grandfather got her with child. And don't think I didn't pour away the klah you laced with abortifacient herbs. And don't think either that I haven't seen you hit Diccon."

"And why not? As your mother said, an obnoxious low born brat!" sneered Rekkal.

"You are overwrought, daughter" declared Mathas, as though his opinion were a proven fact. "If you go to your room now and are prepared to apologise, we can forget the whole thing."

T'lana decided to interrupt at this point.

"What an edifying conversation" she said scornfully. "Indeed it throws a lot of light on a singularly unpleasant family. I can quite see why Marek might have hoped desperately for a child with Ciella to give him the chance to start again. My disgust for your lack of common compassion is exceeded only by my disappointment that none of you horrid people killed Marek."

Shock at her brutally frank scorn warred with relief at her last remark.

"That leaves only Ciella – or your friend Zeleika!" declared Mathas in triumph.

T'lana shook her head.

"Lord Deckter should have received answers to a certain question I asked him by now" she said, attaching a brief message to Merry's collar. "I've now asked a question very specifically – and in a moment I'll have the answer." She directed Merry to find Deckter.

It was not many minutes before the little creature reappeared from _Between_; a few minutes of uncomfortable silence as T'lana's force of personality held them all motionless and speechless in breathless anticipation.

T'lana unfolded the note, stroking her pet and praising her; and read it through. She nodded, satisfied, and turned to the quiet figure all but forgotten in the corner.

"Marksman Sivnor" she said "Or should I say, labourer Shigull?"

The man started.

"Shigull?" asked Powel, sharply "My aunt's son? But that man's nothing like him! How can you make such a suggestion?"

"Shaven, and the characteristic bulbous forehead of your family revealed by cutting that awful hair will show your cousin" said T'lana. "Your cousin who would inherit if all of you were discredited because none could be proved guilty – or innocent!"

Shigull snarled,

"BITCH!" and drew his belt knife on T'lana.

The weyrwoman kicked him scientifically, once in the knee and again in the crotch; and hit him neatly on the temple with the klah ladle Zeleika quickly passed her. He went down with a groan.

"Shame, attacking a pregnant woman – and weyrfolk at that!" cried Zeleika. "THAT's the islands for you, you creep! But T'lana, how did you know?"

"I guessed near the beginning" shrugged T'lana. "Whoever heard of a self-effacing marksman? When I heard there was another branch of the family it was very suggestive. Diccon told me that Marek thought his sister's husband to be a crook; and alas, all too often in these cases, blood does tell. Or maybe it's in the upbringing. Whatever. I checked height and colouring with Deckter; and he told me the name of the missing nephew. Elementary."

Mathas cleared his throat.

"Well then, as new Holder here, we must thank the Weyr for its help in clearing up this terrible crime."

T'lana eyed him icily.

"Assuming rather a lot, aren't you, Mathas? I'd not be too sure who Deckter chooses as the new Holder, bearing in mind that your father did NOT automatically name you, but called family conclave of all your kin" she reminded him. "My cousin will assuredly listen to my opinion; and I will recommend that YOU are not a suitable Holder. You lack all the necessary qualities" and on that note she swept out, followed by cries of outrage and disbelief.

T'lana expressed her opinion forcibly to Lord Deckter; and her friend blinked.

"It's immensely unconventional" he ventured.

T'lana shrugged.

"Do you want a competent Holder who will do well for the people; or a mean spirited apology for a would-be Meron on the days he rises above being a half-woman?" she asked bluntly.

"I take your point."

Deckter made the announcement at the end of the Gather; and Lady Holder Thalara stood open-mouthed and speechless.

Her parents had plenty to say; but Deckter interrupted.

"Mathas, I think it would be a good idea if you and your wife and son move out of the main Hold here" he said. "There are plenty of rooms in Nabol. I think you should make an extended visit there."

There was nothing more Mathas could say!

H'llon had not, of course, found out much at the woodcrafter hall; save that the old man Marek had done well by them and gloomy predictions that neither his sons or his nephews would be good news for the craft. There seemed to be a less than happy atmosphere; but H'llon, knowing that judging how people felt was not his long suit thought that perhaps it was just the death of a supportive Holder and was loath to interfere in another Master's hall. H'llon was so delighted to find that Deckter had chosen as a new Holder them most meritorious regardless of gender that his feelings towards the Lord Holder were even more kindly and approving than usual! He examined the boy Diccon's carving with appropriate gravity; and pronounced him trainable. Diccon and Ciella, emotionally drained, packed to fly to the Weyr, H'llon volunteering to take them _Between_. It would be a long time before the two settled down; but Thalara offered a place in the Hold to Ciella as her personal assistant when she had had time to adjust, should she wish it. And Ciella, before she left, agreed to consider it.

"Rum lot" commented H'llon.

"People are" shrugged T'lana. "Look at your sister-in-law."

H'llon shuddered.

"I'd rather not!" he said.


	12. Chapter 12

**12 The Despised Daughters**

Diccon could scarcely avoid noticing Radall's lack of legs; but had the manners neither to ask nor to stare. And when he realised how capable the woodcraft apprentice was at getting about even without them he had the uncommon good sense not to offer help!

Radall appreciated it; and duly volunteered the information of how he had been born without legs and had therefore never missed them. Diccon accepted that; and the fact that Radall wanted a friend with similar interests far more than he wanted sympathy! It was a need too in the lonely, bereaved boy; and comradeship inevitably arose. The Weyr learned that the imagination of one small boy was more than doubled by two; and Radall and Diccon shared punishment duties for their more outrageous practical jokes with the same comradely equanimity that they approached their misdeeds!

H'llon let them have their heads for a while, to give Diccon the opportunity to settle in, merely keeping an eye on them to see that their pranks did not get out of hand, though he trusted Radall not to attempt anything dangerous, and to have the sense not to permit his friend to either. When he deemed Diccon to be happily settled he made sure to keep them too busy to have enough time for anything too elaborate!

Telfer seemed almost adult to young Diccon; the boy was sixteen turns old. Since the operation that had improved his clearing sight, Telfer had been working hard busy preparing for acceptance by the Woodcrafter Hall in Lemos, and H'llon encouraged this, treating him almost like a junior journeyman. H'llon had no doubt that the boy would swiftly be confirmed in his promotion once he got to the crafthall, for his disability had made him more hungry to succeed than those who took their sight for granted. And it did Telfer no harm to do some teaching duties with the younger boys!

Ciella, in the meantime, seeing her son so happy, returned to Threewoods Hold to take up the invitation of Lady Holder Thalara; for she knew she could help her far more than the girl's hidebound greataunt who theoretically ran the domestic arrangements! Thalara intended to ease Ciella into position of Headwoman, a position unfulfilled as Mara had declared it unnecessary; and she also wanted the friendship of a younger woman closer to her in age.

Diccon was glad to run errands for H'llon, who soon became his hero; and if Radall was at all envious, he said nothing to his new companion. Radall had a remarkable capability for contentment; and his ability with wood was beyond that of most woodcrafter lads his own age, Diccon included.

It was Radall too whose sharp eyes picked out a spot of unusual colour beside the precipitate path to the Weyr as H'llon took the boys to choose some timber for felling. The path at that point was too narrow for Melth to land on; and H'llon directed the big Bronze to a point some ten lengths above it where the hogback opened up somewhat. The woodcrafters walked – in Radall's case, wheeled – down the path. D're and his kin had been foremost amongst the volunteers in the refurbishment of the path after the usual winter damage; and it was now well-founded, with graded layers of stone, packed with loose gravel as the top layer, well compacted with use.

Like a bite, part of the hogback had fallen away.

"Shards!" gasped Radall. "What done that?"

"At a guess" suggested H'llon "It was something to do with that unseasonal blizzard a month back. Loosened it, anyway. It rained hard, last night. I know. I was out in it." The back end of Threadfall had been treated to a deluge; to the disgruntlement of the dragonriders who felt that the rain might have had the decency to have fallen a little earlier to drown Thread before it fell and save them turning out at all. As it was, the weather had waited almost to the end of their vigil then soaked each and every one of them. Y'lara was not high on anyone's popularity stakes for commenting that 'worse things happen at sea' in a cheerfully loud voice; and H'llon privately suspected that all the female riders had closed ranks to pretend an unconcern over the weather just so they could tease their menfolk over being 'poor babies!'.

Whatever had caused the rockfall it was nasty; and H'llon lay flat on the damaged path to lean over and look down. H'llon was not overly fond of heights unless he was flying, when he found he did not care how high he was, a paradox that made no sense but nevertheless existed. He grit his teeth. Far below – it seemed – lay the patch of blue that had first caught Radall's eye; and so much relatively closer than seen from dragonback it resolved itself into a cloak covering a human form.

The drop was not steep; and there were no rocks by the dark head.

H'llon made a decision and took a deep breath.

"HO, BELOW!" he bellowed "CAN YOU HEAR ME?"

The figure twitched and shifted slightly. H'llon fancied he heard a faint cry that turned into a groan.

"I'M COMING DOWN!" he called. He turned to the boys. "Get a rope, Diccon and karabiners. Radall, you know how to rig a lowering hitch. There's a tree growing out of the side of the cliff. You tie the hitch and pass the sharding thing down to me."

"Sir" Radall nodded as Diccon sprinted off. The High Reaches boasted a fine mountain rescue service, and most Riders were at least familiar with climbing techniques, and some of the youngsters – mostly those associated with the logicators – made it their business to be even better acquainted with ropework and such. H'llon had undertaken the basic courses on climbing and abseiling, feeling it his duty to participate; and had hated every minute. He lowered himself with care to the horizontal tree – it was a maple, he noted, deep rooted and probably firm – and put experimental weight upon it whilst he clung to the brink. It bent; but held. H'llon gave an explosive breath of relief. Good old maple! Pine might have pulled away, its shallow roots unequal to his weight.

Soon, above him, the ropework was rigged, and H'llon clipped the karabiner to his belt. He took a cautious descent, paying the rope out gently, reflecting as he always did that on Melth tens of lengths up was nothing; yet here he was a length or two up and distinctly queasy!

A projecting ledge meant that he had to swing out round it; and swallowing hard he pushed back vigorously with his feet to bounce out and round, touching back beneath. The rope touched the projection; and H'llon made the decision to bounce hastily the rest of the way in classic rappelling fashion as V'gion had taught him. If the rope chafed on the projection, better to move fast and be near the bottom should it break!

Finally on the ground, H'llon unclipped himself from the karabiner and went to kneel by the figure. It turned out to be a fairly well dressed girl of about thirteen turns, with swarthy, sharp features made sharper by a degree of skinniness that did not seem entirely natural; and over large dark eyes filled with pain that regarded him steadily and apparently fearlessly. H'llon was no connoisseur of feminine pulchritude but he had a vague feeling that the relatively rich clothes – that did not fit very well and seemed to be cast offs – did not offset the unfortunately plain little face and its prominent front teeth in more evidence than usual biting on the lower lip. It was, however, of more importance to him that the eyes were filled with a bright intelligence beneath the pain and showed no panic.

"You can't move?" he asked.

"Not without considerable pain" said the girl. "I was contemplating the relative merits and demerits of dying of exposure and possibly damaging something irrevocably when you, um, dropped in" she managed a brief smile.

She could keep a sense of humour! H'llon grinned at her.

"I'll ask someone to bring out Calla – our Weyrhealer" he said. "I reckon there's room for Denth to land down here" he added thoughtfully, reaching his mind for Melth to ask him to bespeak the undersized Brown and his rider. He added, more to keep talking for reassurance than anything else "My name's H'llon, by the way."

"Bronze Rider and Journeyman woodcrafter by your knots. My foster family would have forty fits at so indiscreet a meeting! And us unintroduced!" she attempted a gay little laugh but it ended on a sob of pain. "Sorry, Bronze rider" she said through gritted teeth.

"It's all right" said H'llon, feeling helpless. "You're doing very well. Why don't you tell me your name and a bit about yourself?"

"Why not? My name is Imbellinne. I expect that you can guess my parentage from my unprepossessing looks" it was a trifle bitter.

H'llon, bewildered, shook his head.

"Should I?" he asked.

She brightened.

"Then you were not acquainted with my late, and decidedly unlamented sire, Meron of Nabol?" she asked.

H'llon shook his head again.

"I've not had the displeasure I'm glad to say."

"How refreshing – to find someone who says it like it is instead of changing the subject, or making snide remarks and pretending to apologise for tactlessness" she said.

H'llon shrugged.

"No-one at High Reaches has a good word for Meron. But that's hardly the fault of any of his unfortunate offspring, is it?"

Imbellinne sighed almost contentedly.

"Then I am doing the right thing – if that's a fairly prevalent attitude pertaining to the people of the Weyr."

"What's that?"

"I thought I'd come to the Weyr. Of course, I'm HOPING to be accepted as a candidate for a Green when there's a clutch – I saw the mating flight – but I'll understand if I'm barred. I considered my options and came to the conclusion that to drudge in the Weyr for real, to pay back for some of what my father tried to destroy, was a preferable state to that of being drudge in all but name under the supposed situation of fostering."

H'llon frowned.

"Supposed? What is this?" he asked, hardly noticing the downdraft of air as T'mon and Denth landed, bringing Calla.

"It's a longish story" she tried to shrug; screamed; and fainted.

Calla made a long examination.

"The girl is lucky" she pronounced at last. "A broken leg; a broken arm. No worse than T'han's usual plight" – she referred to the clumsy young Brown Rider recently despatched as duty Rider to Northfork Runnerhold until he figured out where his hands and feet were – "Lots of contusions, possible concussion and several ripped muscles. They'll hurt more than the breaks. I'll immobilise those broken bones and she can go back on Denth. We've a hoist for a stretcher."

"Perhaps Denth would be kind enough to return for me" said H'llon, viewing the climb back up with dismay. "I think my rope's frayed."

T'mon grinned at H'llon and winked.

"Cheeky sprog" growled the weyrwoodcrafter.

T'mon chuckled.

"But at least with jobs like this I KNOW the Weyr finds me useful" he said serenely. He had grown no end in confidence since Denth started to form an important part of the mountain rescue team, a far cry from the apologetic, scared boy who had been dismissed from Telgar Weyr with his newly hatched partner.

H'llon gave him a friendly punch on the arm.

"Too fardling right!" he said with feeling. "Telgar's loss has been our gain, and us glad they're filled with cranks and defectives!"

T'mon chuckled; High Reaches had been described in such terms by R'mart in the snippy note he had sent accompanying T'mon and Denth.

The woodcrafters took a proprietary interest in 'their' candidate; and managed to sit in when she told her story to the senior weyrwomen.

"After my father died" she said "Everyone was pretty embarrassed about what to do with us; none of us had attained the age of nubility – though Meliandra was close - and all six of us look too much like our sire to readily attract a husband in any case. Even if there was not the distinct disadvantage of the suggestion of, shall we say a less attractive bloodline" she paused. "Meliandra I hear from sometimes; I believe from her letters that she achieves some measure of what one might describe as substitute for love in the free participation in amatory adventure, though I would dispute that it gives her any degree of true happiness. Sorelinna, who is second daughter, between Melly and myself, is sixteen turns, arrived unexpectedly at Reedmere Hold where I was fostering as a Runnertrader's wife. It would appear that she eloped with a red-haired rogue on a deal of mutual friendship, Blood for his hopeful offspring and a promise of faithfulness from him" she sighed "It is to be hoped that she'll not regret it."

"Red haired?" T'lana was interested. "Not one of the extensive Mulgan tribe?"

"Yes! Sabraytak Mulgan, his name is. Enough of a mouthful to rival any of ours!"

"Your mother does seem to have picked…fanciful names" said Pilgra.

"An attempt, one surmises, to offset in some measure, our plain faces, Weyrwoman. The three younger ones are called Ipominea, Clytelia and Adellys."

"Shards, shells and sharp little spikey bits!" swore T'lana. "Still, they all contract just fine."

"Contract?" Imbellinne was puzzled.

"If any of you Impress" explained Pilgra. "We contract our female riders – Gold or Green – here as well. Except me. There's not a lot you can do with a name like Pilgra, it's already short and to the point."

"Besides" said T'lana, hugging her friend "You ARE Pilgra and it's the way we love you."

"Flatterer!" laughed the bouncy little Weyrwoman.

"That then proves the veracity of the rumours I had assimilated" said Imbellinne "That you put girls to Greens too. And – and you don't mind me making an Impression attempt?" her voice was hungry.

"It's all true" said Pilgra crisply. "And it's the dragons that choose; not the prejudices of a few idiots who can't see that the deeds of the sire do NOT reflect on the offspring. WE cite Lord Jaxom at any who try THAT rubbish on. But tell me young lady! What on Pern were you doing tramping up the hill instead of being brought dragonback to ask to be a candidate? And alone? Even if Reedmere doesn't rank a duty dragon – and I can't for the life of me even think where the place is, so I guess it doesn't – surely your fosterfolk would either escort you to the nearest Hold that does or drum a request?"

Imbellinne looked at her steadily.

"The useless ugly brat" she said carefully "Of a piece of dung better forgotten does not rank trips dragonback. It might give her ideas above her station. She is to be verbally abused, beaten and humiliated so that those in power might forget where the firelizards her foster family own came from. She and her sister only exist to be punished for existing."

Pilgra and T'lana exchanged looks.

"Deckter would NOT countenance this if he knew" said T'lana quietly. "You sisters were split up I gather – but there's one in the same place as you?"

"Largely we were split into pairs" said Imbellinne. "Sorelinna as I said escaped through marriage. Ipominea was with me, she's younger and she was scared to take the risk of coming with me; I've been waiting for the right moment to ask if you could see your way to bringing her here too; I promised her I'd ask. Like I told Bronze Rider H'llon, better to drudge in the Weyr and feel like we were paying off father's debt than do so with those hypocrites. At least if we were abused here it would be with good reason" she shrugged fatalistically and winced. T'lana noticed that her normal rather involuted speech patterns dropped off when she was earnest about something; there was a story to that, perhaps!

Pilgra hugged the girl gently.

"Fardles" she said. "YOU have no debt to pay, so get that out of your head. And we'll have Ipominea – shells, what a name! – with you in two shakes."

"Yes, I'd say if any punishment were handed out by fate for being born their father's daughters, their names are cruel and unusual" laughed T'lana, touching Imbellinne's face to take away any sting of the teasing comment. "I've to be away to see Deckter; and find out where the others are."

For the first time in years Imbelline broke down and sobbed in relief.

She had almost forgotten that there were people who were kind!

T'lana decided not to delegate on this task, and flew Straight to Nabol Hold. As she had surmised, Deckter was quite horrified to hear of the treatment of his kinswomen; and appreciated the courtesy of T'lana coming in person.

"I assure you, T'lana, if I had known I would have put a stop to it" he declared. "I know what you're thinking – I should have known, that's my job. I suppose in excuse I can only say that I did not want them to feel I was interfering; that with the older ones I thought it best that they should foster elsewhere, where there were no unpleasant associations. M'eldest boy's wife took the two little ones; Clytie and 'Lyssi we call them. Lyssi's a sweetie, but sickly, poor child" he sighed "Master Oldive says that she caught that loathsome disease of her father's whilst still inside her mother's womb."

T'lana gasped in horror.

"Then….she'll die horribly, in agony? Deckter, we can take her _Between_ when the pain gets bad, Mirrith will carry her and just let her go…for a child to go through that for the fault of that….." she could not think of a bad enough adjective.

Deckter touched her arm.

"Oldive says she's more likely to take some winter ailment and die young. Which I can only say would be for the best. Though I'll bear your offer in mind, and thank you for it, should she be in pain."

T'lana nodded, tears stinging her eyes. The loss of little Deela at the Weyr was still a raw memory even after so many months had passed. Deckter laid a hand on her shoulder.

"We'll give the little one as good a childhood as we can" he said. "And we'd be pleased if her sisters would visit; and perhaps she and Clytie can come to the Weyr too."

T'lana nodded.

"Any time" she said "As are YOU always welcome. We should end up with at least two of them; H'llon has gone in grim mood and full of righteous indignation to extract Ipominea; and I intend to offer the Weyr to Meliandra as well. She can't be any more promiscuous than some of our….wilder spirits started out as, even searching for a substitute for love"

"She and Sorelinna were fostered at a Hold called Sunnybrooks, down in the south, almost on the Ruathan border. One daughter there and many sons."

"Yes, and it seems to be the many sons that may constitute the problem" said T'lana grimly. "I'll catch up with you later, Deckter. Perhaps you'll bring the little 'uns over on your duty dragon? Who is it….Ferth and his rider."

Deckter chuckled.

"S'orrer would probably not even take offence at you remembering Ferth and not him" he said. "You must scarcely have Impressed when he requested easier duties for his age and infirmities."

"I don't think I had Impressed….blonde, greying, eyesight failing, tactical deafness? Is that him?"

"In a nutshell!" the Lord Holder laughed. "I gather T'bor tried to get him to have the skins growing on his eyes removed at the Healer Hall, but our brave dragonrider turned sudden coward at the thought of the knife….though the thought makes me nervous I guess. But to get your eyesight back….well, he sees well enough through Ferth's eyes to land accurately enough. Tomorrow perhaps, then?"

"Excellent" approved T'lana. "Now what else is on your mind, my friend? Spit it out, don't be coy!"

Deckter chuckled.

"Nothing too serious….we've a girl walked in from a collective of cotholds, asked to be a candidate. Do you want her now?"

T'lana considered.

"Unless there are specific circumstances that make it important" she said carefully "I'm not inclined to give candidates reason to boast of being brought in on a Queen. It makes some girls bumptious; or can get them teased for the ill feeling it can cause amongst the others."

"She's a funny girl, kind of sullen" said Deckter "And I swear she's hiding something. That's why I mention her to you, not wait for the next Green or Blue on Search."

T'lana sighed.

"All right, you slyboots, I'll talk to her" she said "But I may yet make her come in on Ferth!"

Shuba was somewhat more than a girl; T'lana estimated her age at twenty turns or more. The look she shot up at the little weyrwoman from under her lashes from downcast eyes was admiring; and frankly disturbing.

T'lana stared at Deckter pointedly until he left.

"I'm passing through" T'lana said bluntly to Shuba "And Lord Deckter seems to think that you might have a story to tell. Perhaps woman to woman you can tell it? We try to do our best for those people who need our help and understanding at the Weyr."

Shuba raised her eyes and gave T'lana a shrewd appraisal.

"They say you're pretty tolerant at the Weyr" she said.

"We do our best; the only thing we don't tolerate is laziness. Otherwise? People are people" T'lana shrugged.

Shuba stuck her hands in her working-quality twill trouser pockets, shoulders hunched, and walked backwards and forwards. It looked very mannish.

"I always managed to turn down the potential husbands my parents found for me" she said, abruptly. "It always felt wrong. But they impressed on me how ungrateful I was being. Then they found a boy living near to us, and he was quite nice. And I really liked his sister. So I said 'yes'" she paused, collecting herself. "I wonder how tolerant you really are?"

"I can guess the rest" said T'lana. "You found his sister more attractive than him, and she made you aware and aroused as no man could."

"It's not abnormal?" there was undisguised relief in Shuba's voice. "I thought I was peculiar, and that I'd somehow corrupted Joana."

"It's not that usual – at least, not in my limited experience – but certainly not at all unknown" shrugged T'lana. "I don't you see personally know – or didn't rather" she corrected herself "- anyone who feels that way; lots of girls seem to come to the Weyr in search of unlimited handsome men, I don't know of any who've come for us girls. The nature of Impressing a female dragon is, however, that you will ultimately end up in bed with a man."

Shuba gulped.

"So you won't take me? And it's no good asking if Joana could come too?"

"I never said that. We'll take you because you need our protection. I guess if you Impress, it means you blow both ways; some boys do, we've one family set up consisting of three boys and a girl all perfectly happy. If you don't Impress, well there's plenty of jobs in a Weyr. The same goes for Joana. If you're cothold raised we could surely do with experienced farmers right now for one, we're trying to expand our vegetable growing."

"Joana's not interested in Impression. Not at all. But I'm afraid they might be….displeased with her. I want to know she's all right. Her brother understands, I explained it all to him, he was very good about it….which made me feel a heel until he confessed he prefers boys. Maybe that's why I liked him; he's quite….feminine."

"We'll check" soothed T'lana. "If Joana wants to come with you without being a candidate, that's fine; and if her brother wants to come too, and have his preferences treated as normal, that's fine too" she heaved a sigh of concentration "I'll send one of the girls to pick you up tomorrow – and check on your girlfriend. I'd have had Ferth bring you in, but with other things to sort, a dedicated mission is better. Don't worry. Now, I have other business to attend to – you'll excuse me?"

Shuba nodded gratefully, and T'lana strode off.

"I'll send Y'lara for her" she told Deckter. "She's abrasive enough on the outside to deal with any family troubles, but kind enough beneath it to take care of the woman and her girlfriend."

Meanwhile, H'llon had gone set faced and grim to Reedmere Hold; and had informed Holder Irgen and his hard-faced spouse that the Lady Imbellinne was safe, and had decided to come to the Weyr as a candidate, and felt that her sister did too, as they would be happier together; and that they were to get the girls' possessions together and make it snappy.

H'llon did not want to hang around long enough to lose his temper, and spoke in impatient, clipped phrases that plainly terrified the Holderfolk.

Irgen hummed and ha'ahed; and finally his wife said tonelessly,

"The girl has been naughty. She is in her room as a punishment."

H'llon exploded.

"By the First Egg, do you think I have time to waste hanging around over your petty punishments? I know about you – and by now, so does Lord Deckter, and he'll have a thing or two to say about you ill treating his cousins! Now produce the girl!"

"I'm here. If it's me you want."

The voice was behind him; and H'llon swung round.

A girl almost identical to Imbellinne stood there, clothed bizarrely in a poncho made of a blanket, a hole hacked roughly in the middle.

"I climbed out of the window" she said calmly. Evidently calm acceptance was a feature of these sisters. H'llon grinned at her; she reminded him of his little sister in that respect. He got a cautious grin back.

"No clothes?" the Bronze Rider asked.

"SHE took them away. In case I followed my sister. I fardling nearly did" the girl sniffed hard. "Is she all right?"

"Yes. She had a bit of an accident on the way – a fall – but she'll be fine. It didn't damage her tongue" he winked conspiratorially at the little girl who gave him a wider grin. "YOU!" he swung round and barked at the woman "Give this child her clothing back and pack hers and her sister's chests."

"But…." Began the woman, her mouth a trap.

"Caprines butt" muttered the child. The look she was given would have promised punishment had she not been leaving.

H'llon moved very close to the Holder's wife. He had discovered that his bulk intimidated people; and right now he wanted to intimidate those who had ill treated two little girls for the past four turns.

"Did you perhaps not hear me?" he said softly. "SHOULD I SHOUT?" this last right into her face. She recoiled, taking an involuntary step backwards.

"Right away, Bronze Rider. O-of course" she stammered, fleeing.

Irgen said, complacently,

"I'm surprised to find you championing these particular girls, Bronze Rider, a man of High Reaches Weyr as you are. You do KNOW who sired them, don't you?" almost he purred venom.

H'llon gave him a look of distaste.

"I know" he said levelly. "And I have yet to find that parentage necessarily affects the personality of the child. After all" he added "If we were to go by the acts of the parents, most Ranking families would sooner or later find themselves Holdless for their ancestors' infractions, would they not? And moreover" he warmed to his theme "Lord Jaxom – who is also a dragonrider – would not be happy to hear himself described after the fashion of his sire, Fax. Would he?"

Irgen scowled.

His wife reappeared with a suitably clad Ipominea. The marks of fingers stood out clearly on the child's sallow face.

H'llon made a business of tilting the little girl's china and staring at the marks, and then at the woman.

"I'll remember you" he said softly. "C'mon, shortstuff, let's go. You – carry the bags."

Unaccustomed to throwing his weight around, H'llon felt it a salutary lesson to push home his Rank to these unpleasant people. After all, he had earned it now by fighting Thread.

"You do peremptory most awfully well" said Ipominea admiringly.

H'llon grinned.

"But I do have to work at it."

"I guessed that, sir. You've got gentle eyes and a kind smile."

H'llon determined to ask Zaira if she'd mind helping to foster these two. Not that his beloved was many turns older than Imbelline. But Zaira was well adjusted and happy; and used to responsibility in the Weyr.

T'lana dispatched gentle A'ira to Sunnybrook Hold. Z'linda was big, bulky, and inclined to be lachrymose, weyrbound like T'lana in the final trimester of her first pregnancy. Y'lara was inclined to take the Rights of women a little personally; and with due consideration, T'lana asked A'ira and R'cal to check on Shuba's lover and her brother too, after collecting Meliandra. Assuming Meliandra wanted to be collected.

A'ira landed at Sunnybrooks with some trepidation; those girls who sought solace in many partners were, she found, often truculent. A'ira hated confrontation. Nevertheless she went in search of Meliandra.

She was to reach her goal quickly.

The first person she encountered was a girl plainly of Meron's get, adjusting her skirt as she swung out of a barn. Her look was neutral; but a glance at A'ira's knots betrayed sudden interest flashing quickly into her eyes before disappearing behind a studiously bored expression.

"May I help you, Green Rider?"

It was almost insolent in intonation.

"No. But the Green Rider may be of some use to you" said A'ira, coolly. "I bring a message from your sister Imbellinne."

Meliandra achieved a sneer. It made her look more like Meron than ever.

"Yes, we do look distinctive, don't we?" she said.

A'ira kept her temper.

"You'd look less like the old bugger if you didn't ape his expressions" she said tartly.

"Or his habits? Rutting like a….well, a weyrwoman?"

A'ira raised an eyebrow.

"Dear me, is that what the sad people have to say? Come, child, be sorry for them! Personally I should have thought that you'd want to avoid the disease that killed him, but it's your choice, I guess."

"What do you mean?"

A'ira stared.

"Didn't you know? It's a disease passed by sex. It lurks in parts of the countryside where um…" she flushed "Master Oldive says it originated in llamas" she mumbled.

"Llama shagging? I don't lie with anyone who does that!"

"How do you know? And how do you know who else they've laid with? If these horrid men treat you like a loving wench, they've probably been with loving wenches. And they, poor girls, are more likely to have it from summer clients who aren't satisfied with hand relief stuck in isolated cotholds through long winter nights…."

Meliandra stared thoughtfully at her.

"I think I believe you."

"I only repeat what I've been told; but my sources are reputable. Do you WANT the message from your sister or do you want to argue the toss about sleeping around?"

"I'd like the message. Please."

"She has come to the Weyr as a candidate; and we rescued your next sister Ipominea from the same unkind fosterage too. Imbellinne asked if you'd care to join them. My suggestion would be to agree; but if you do, under the circumstances I'll ask you to stay celibate for three sevendays to be sure you've not caught anything from the oafs that Hold here" she added. "After that, if you've had no boils, spots or any unusual effusion – supposing you've never had such before – you'll know it's safe to do what you want."

"How do you know they're all clean in the Weyr?"

"Dragons don't choose those who have fatal diseases. And in the Weyr, no-one gets bored enough to um, fornicate with llamas. And the boys can have their pick of women; they've no need for loving wenches you know."

Meliandra grunted.

"Alright" she said in an offhand way. "Besides, with pretty ones like you, no-one will look at me."

"Now you stop that right now!" shouted A'ira, surprising herself as much as Meliandra. "You'll see what we can make of you at the Weyr when you've the chance to be happy – for you've fine eyes, you silly child, and intelligence in them too, if you'll only stop hiding it! Sure you're not beautiful like some of them – nor am I, and I certainly wasn't when I first arrived, a worn down little drab of a thing! Now stop doing yourself down, or I shall get cross!"

"I – I'll go and pack" said Meliandra meekly.

A'ira collected herself; and went to inform the girl's foster parents that Meliandra was being taken on Search.

"She'll be in the right place then" was the rather barbed comment from her foster mother.

A'ira, simmering, bit back her initial retort, and smiled brightly.

"Yes, it's the right place for the intelligent" she said instead "She's wasted in a bucolic backwater like this wasting her brains on threadwitted fools."

The holderwoman splutterd, but A'ira had stalked out to meet her charge, reflecting that she must thank Libethra for giving her the verbal ammunition to use from her own well sharpened wit! She ushered Meliandra to Joroth and flew her directly back to the Weyr to her sister.

"Thank you" said Meliandra. "Not just for the trip – for what you said to Berrana."

"You heard? She made me angry."

"I like your anger. That paid back many a score I owe her!"

A'ira and R'cal went straight away to the loose collection of cots whence Shuba had originated. Shuba's fears were relatively unfounded; the parents of the girl Joana were reacting 'more in sorrow than in anger' and were struggling to understand their daughter. Joana did, however, wish to rejoin her lover; having once tasted passion she would ot readily give it up for an adequate marriage. As for her brother, he leaped at the chance of going on Search. Josend was a slight, pale, ladylike youth, and the sexual freedoms of the Weyr appealed to him. He had a younger brother, Sendan, who was hale and hearty and clearly despised his older brother, who would be a better heir to his father's farm.

It was well that Joana did not intend to stand for Impression.

Even the sight of little Joroth plainly terrified her; and it was only her desire to be with Shuba that persuaded her, sobbing and distraught onto the confused little Green's neck. Josend was a little braver climbing onto Camnath, but he too was plainly nervous!

A'ira rolled up her eyes to her weyrmate. It had been rather a fraught day!

Of course the logicators discussed it all later – the displacement behaviour of Meliandra in seeking sex as the nearest thing to affection. L'rilly spoke frankly of her own frantic and fruitless search for love in the Weyr through physical promiscuity and how she had learned that it was but a hollow sensation if approached as anything but a wish for mutual fun being no substitute for friendship and love. Meliandra had come up to see what was going on and was unsure whether to be offended; but as nobody seemed to be making fun of her, she stayed and listened quietly outside the door.

The logicators also were interested in the phenomenon of female homosexuality, perhaps more widespread than they had thought.

"After all" as T'lana said "Girls have little say in Holds about things like marriage, very often. Who knows if they are sometimes married to, as it were, the wrong gender? And if Joana were to stand for Impression, wouldn't it then make more sense if Shuba should Impress a Blue? Boys Impress female dragons; could homosexual girls Impress male ones?"

"Too much speculation" drawled D're. "Sure, why don't we wait and let the dragons do the choosin' av it, as they'll manage perfectly well the way they always do!"

"True enough!" said T'lana gaily, moving on to the next subject under discussion.

That subject was the curious phenomenon of the punishing of the daughters of Meron as a means of assuaging guilt for supporting him.

"I say it's a downright childish way to act and is unforgiveable!" said H'llon, hotly.

"Dear one, I agree" said T'lana. "And how often do people act childishly?"

"Too fardling often" growled H'llon.

"Especially if they feel insecure" she told him.

H'llon grunted.

"I'd like to make them feel a fardling sight more insecure" he grumbled.

T'lana grinned.

"By your account of the affair, dear one, you did" she said. H'llon gave an answering grin; it was rather wolfish.

"I guess so!" he agreed.

Meliandra cleared her throat, and asked,

"May I say something?" she quailed slightly as many eyes turned to regard her gravely, some filled with embarrassment as they wondered what she had overheard!

"Of course" said T'lana. "This discussion group is open to any sensible comment. It's not in the nature of gossip, as I'm sure you've realised in the time you've been with us. I'm glad you decided to join us, I hope you've found it of interest and helpful; we try to understand how people think, in order the better to fulfil our oath to aid all, you know."

The girl nodded.

"I sort of gathered that. That's why I wanted to add to your discussions. I found that if I said 'I love you, father' to my father, he clouted me less. And the same with other people. I don't know if that's at all significant."

T'lana nodded.

"It could very well be" she said. "Children don't often make a spontaneous verbal expression of love unless they see a reason – and are rarely effusive even then. A sudden hug is about the most any of us expect, quickly wriggled away from because they're so busy with their play. Keep an eye out for it people; it might mean a frightened kiddie" she smiled at Meliandra "Thank you for sharing that with us. You might have enabled us to help some kid whose problems we otherwise might miss."

The girl shrugged, her face closed again.

"That's all right" she managed grudgingly.

But T'lana felt it was a very good start!

The sequel to this was a return to Sunnybrook Hold by A'ira and Y'lara; Meliandra had mentioned casually that the Holder's daughter Jassinda might like the opportunity to go on search too.

"Been thinking about what I told you people" she growled to A'ira. "Reckon she might say how much she loves her loathsome daddy a bit more than is healthy"

A'ira nodded.

"We'll certainly check that out" she said. "Thanks!"

When the weyrwomen made the formal request, Holder Jass looked over at the girl.

"Ah, my little girly wouldn't want to leave her old father, would she now?" he said.

The girl shot him a look.

"Oh no, father, I do love my father, I do, I do!" she wrapped her arms around his neck; and he patted her.

Y'lara shot him a shrewd look.

"How long have you been shagging your own daughter?" she asked, conversationally "Since you started on poor Meliandra, or before she came?"

Things fell apart here rather; but the force of personality of the dragonriders – and Y'lara's strong arms – prevented the woman Berrana from murdering her husband once she had overcome her initial disbelief. Snide to Meliandra she may have been; and suspected her of seducing Jass, assuming her to be the instigator, but when she came to realise that her husband was the initial perpetrator, and on their own daughter too, there were no names she did not call him, sending R'cal's and A'ira's firelizards squealing away _Between_ as she used the Red Star's name to curse him! Assured there would be no reprisals, Jassinda confessed to her mother that her father had been bedding her since she was ten turns old, and she had been relieved when Meliandra and Sorelinna had come to share his attentions. Berrana broke down completely, and the weyrfolk suggested that Jassinda would be better away from the Hold, in Nabol with Deckter's capable daughter-in-law if not in the Weyr.

Jassinda agreed and went with A'ira to explain the matter to Lord Deckter; while R'cal and Y'lara overpowered Jass to drag him before the Lord Holder. The sons of the hold were inclined to bluster; and Y'lara was tolerably certain they had known about it even if they had not actively participated in the incest.

They had used poor Meliandra instead, and possibly Sorelinna until she had escaped though marriage.

"It's being small and isolate" said T'lana. "If it's not llamas, it's ovines; and if it's not ovines, it's incest."

"You have a wide experience?" asked R'gar.

She shrugged.

"I was brought up in a cothold community. You see all sorts of wickedness in cot communities."

Deckter was NOT a happy man to have to pass sentence on so loathsome a crime; but he did not count the weyrfolk bringing it to his attention as interference the way some Lords Holder might, the reason T'lana was less circumspect interfering in Nabol despite F'lar's edicts on the subject!

"By poetic justice" he roared "I should send you to the Weyr to be used by disappointed Blue Riders following a mating flight!"

R'cal raised a supercilious eyebrow.

"Please, Lord Holder!" he murmured "Give us credit for some taste, even in dragonlust! For my part, I'd almost prefer a llama!"

Deckter shot him a look; and a rueful grin, knowing well that this Blue Rider weyred with a very pretty young woman!

"I'm going to place you out of temptation's way" he said tightly to Jass. "There's a mine manned by batchelors; you can go there to dig for your keep. Twice as long as you've been abusing these girls. That's fourteen turns for your daughter and eight for Meliandra. Twenty two turns in all. By that time you should be old enough not to be able to get it up" he added grimly.

On the whole, R'cal agreed with his reasoning.

"Would you increase that if he's been using the daughters of those outside his family in Hold and out-cots?" he asked.

"Yes" agreed Deckter.

"I'll go ask questions – with your permission My Lord" said R'cal happily "For you'll want to compensate them from his anticipated wages in lieu of dowry."

"Of course" Deckter bowed.

He would never countenance interference were it not so good hearted and freely offered as aid; and felt he had a good bargain in his excellent relations with the Weyr!


	13. Chapter 13

**13 Liars Expect Lies**

Y'lara stopped off at the cothold to beg a drink of water after flying Thread one day, having breathed in some charred Thread and having a coughing fit; and noted disapprovingly the bruise on the cheek of the young woman who gladly drew her a mug, adding a generous measure of fresh redfruit juice to flavour it.

The Green Rider was taken by surprise when the big man roared into the cot, and barely dodged the punch he aimed at her.

"You snotty, proddy dragonman!" he bellowed. "You're all alike – and you, my girl, encouraging them! Stand still and fight like a man, you!"

Y'lara dodged behind the table and undid her heavy wherhide jacket, deliberately pulling it back to reveal her pert breasts in her tight tunic.

"And why would I, when I'm not a man?" she said, her voice seeming to come from _Between_. "And why should I have to fight for asking for a drink of water if I were a man? And, my fellow, the correct term of address is 'weyrwoman' or 'Green Rider'; and I will have your apology for your behaviour now, or I'll be away to Lord Deckter" she devoutly hoped she had her geography right and had correctly named the Lord Holder to whom he was ultimately Beholden "And lodge a complaint of an attack upon a dragon woman and to ask his clearance to have the Weyr punish you for the same."

He glared.

"I – well, if you women will behave immodestly and dress like men, what do you expect – weyrwoman? I apologise for trying to hit you" he added sullenly as she stared at him. "But I'll trouble you to be on your way and stop spreading your loose Weyr ways. She's loose enough already!"

"I keep telling you, I've NEVER cheated on you, Doram!" cried the woman.

"And how can I know that, you here supposedly on your own while I'm off with the ovines?" he growled.

Y'lara sniffed pointedly.

"In my experience" she said tartly "Those who are ready to accuse others of cheating – at marriage, at dice or at trading, all alike – are usually cheats themselves and therefore expect to find it in others."

Such behaviour had been noted by the logicators on several occasions, in and out of the Weyr. Notable had been the volatile relationship between two homosexual riders, the Blue Rider not being able, as T'lana had graphically put it, to keep it in his trews; but yet behaving jealously towards his weyrmate to the extent that the youth was upset and out of position during Threadfall. T'bor had posted the Blue Rider to Telgar on T'lana's recommendation; where, as the little weyrwoman had said, they were all pretty lousy anyway so one more rotten apple would scarce make a difference. It was perhaps unfair; but it had not been long after the arrival at High Reaches of T'mon and Denth, and relations had been a trifle strained.

The man Doram glared at Y'lara for her interruption.

"How DARE you!" he ground out.

She shrugged.

"I dare because it is truth; and because there are other cots up here to herd ovines that you could easily visit if you were playing away."

"Get out" his tone was low and threatening.

Tanath resented this treatment of her rider; and Doram retreated before the intrusion of a Green head into the cot.

"Keep a civil head in your head" snapped Y'lara. "We can sort this out: dragons know the thoughts of people if they wish. Tanath, has this woman ever cheated on her revolting husband?"

_"No"_ Tanath broadcast the answer to all present, provoking a whinny of fear from Doram.

"And him?"

_"He has three other women. He names them Sherri, Arduce and Maysa" _said the little dragon.

The woman shrieked in horror and anger.

"How DARE you?" she cried. "How DARE you accuse ME you tunnel snake?"

"Trouser snake more like" murmured Y'lara, easily catching the man's wrist as he went to backhand his wife. Strong as Doram was, her wrists were strengthened from childhood by sailing heavy seas; and since Impression from heaving sacks of firestone around, and he grunted and winced in surprised pain.

"What is your name?" Y'lara asked the woman without letting go of Doram.

"Selandra, weyrwoman" she replied.

"If you are wishful to leave this piece of dung, I will take you gladly; first if you don't mind to the Weyr so I can report in safe; and where you may stay as long as you wish to assess your options, to decide what you want to do. You may stay there, or I will take you to Nabol Hold, or to any relatives you may have as you choose. I will not permit him to hurt you while you get your possessions together."

"What about my baby?" she indicated a cradle.

"He can come too; I've experience of carrying babes safely through _Between_" said Y'lara cheerfully.

"By the Red Star, you'll not take my son!" roared Doram.

"After you've been beating me and casting aspersions on his fathering?" said Selandra scornfully.

"A son belongs to his father! That – dragon – proves that Dorlan is my son!"

"Actually" said Y'lara sweetly "According to the charter, an infant and indeed a child under twelve turns belongs to their mother, unless incompetence is proved in a Holder's court. A boy of age to apprentice may choose if he belongs to mother, father, craft or weyr. It is his right to choose, even as it is the right of any to request the protection of the Weyr."

"Besides, Doram, how were you planning on feeding him?" asked Selandra scornfully. "you've not got the basic equipment!"

"Ewes give milk" he said mulishly.

Selandra gave a bitter, sarcastic laugh.

"And you think that's adequate? Ewes at the last of their milk, the late lambers, when he's but two days old?"

"Two days old?" said Y'lara, sharply "That bruise is older than that!"

Selandra shrugged.

"He hit me and I fell; then I went into labour so he stopped hitting me once there was enough blood to convince him I wasn't faking it."

Y'lara gave Doram a look of total contempt.

"A man who hits a woman is no man" she said scornfully. "A man who hits a PREGNANT woman doesn't even make it to ANIMAL. You are less than the slimy things that spiderclaws feed on in rock pools! You don't deserve a wife and son!"

"If you go off to the weyr, it'll prove you want to be no ore than a loving wench!" Doram said to Selandra.

"Excuse me?" said Y'lara "You impugn us all – and I'm sure my weyrmate would be VERY happy to dispute it with you. Besides, why should she wish to stay with an inadequate like you when she has the chance of being courted by a REAL man who does not need to beat on women or prove his tiny and inadequate manhood by quantity of women because he can't manage the quality to please the one he's wed to?"

Doram went for her.

Y'lara sighed.

She kicked him hard in the crotch and caught him on the chin with an uppercut as he bent forward in pain.

He went down.

"Can I learn that sort of thing in the Weyr?" asked Selandra with eager envy.

"Certainly" said Y'lara, refraining from pointing out that her fighting skills had been learned from her seven older brothers and their friends in her seahold home long before she got to the Weyr.

In Y'lara's view any woman who wanted to learn to stand up for herself was worth cultivating.

And though there was some risk of milk fever by going _Between_, Tanath was hardy enough to make the flight Straight; and so Y'lara reassured Selandra, explaining why.

"How kind of you to think of my wellbeing like that, weyrwoman!" said Selandra.

Y'lara shrugged.

"I'm in the family way myself" she said nonchalantly as though the thought had never scared her "It's a safe time for me to go _Between_ right now, so I don't need to shirk my duties; but I guess it makes me more aware of things I'd never considered before"

It was true; Y'lara had learned a lot of theory quietly from reading medical treatises and asking questions! Her pregnancy was not yet apparent, for which she was pleased, for T'lana always showed by the middle of her second trimester; but the experience had had a mellowing effect on the often abrasive Green Rider. And the thought of a man like Doram being allowed anywhere near a baby made her angry!

Naturally Y'lara made a report of what had happened to Lord Deckter.

"Do you want the Weyr to chastise him, or do you wish me to take action, weyrwoman?" Deckter asked courteously, angry that yet another weyrwoman should be attacked on Nabol soil. Y'lara shrugged.

"I don't think anything more is necessary" she said "The shame of being cold cocked by a girl must have been some punishment for his treatment of his wife" she grinned at the memory "And me, I can take care of myself, though I concede there's those Green Riders as can't and I don't just mean the girls. But I'd be obliged if you could put it about that he's not to be permitted to marry and hurt another woman and potentially children."

"I can recommend" said Deckter "But I WILL put his name about as a wife beater. Thank you for your tolerance."

Y'lara threw back her head and roared with laughter.

"Ah, My Lord, you've made my day" she chuckled "It's the first time I've ever been accused of tolerance, and I shall throw it in T'lana's face when she vetos me going to reason with anybody!"

Deckter joined her laughter for it was infectious!


	14. Chapter 14

_A/N There are several animals and plants mentioned in this one that are my own invention; if you want to check them out look for my essay Fauna and Flora of Pern_

**14 Mile High Murder**

The logicators hoped to practice their skills on the new Rider transferred from Ista Weyr; but the swart Brown Rider K'shon was such an open book that logicating about him was a waste of time being too simple. He had been weyrbred from an early age, since his elder brother Impressed – being orphaned he had been in his brother's care – and was cheerfully enthusiastic. He also had ideas about improving Thread fighting efficiency, and D'ram, worried about his sick Weyrwoman, had been unable to cope with the lad. D'ram had suggested, not unkindly, that K'shon might like to try the High Reaches; and so the young rider had moved. He hit it off right away with Mirielle, D're's sister, waiting for Segrith's clutch; and soon the two were fairly inseparable. With radical ideas, it was inevitable that K'shon should cross H'llon's path; and from being an object of study he was, within days, ensconced firmly amongst the logicators, his cheerful, laid back Ista ways fitting in very well!

The loicators had been lounging around the Bowl in the cool of the morning, eating a picnic breakfast and catching up the newer members on old cases. Thread had fallen over Tillek just after dawn, and those logicators who had flown had assembled after bathing for a convivial natter.

The drum message thrummed across the valley; and most logicator heads tilted to one side to listen, all moving as one!

_**DDDD**Weyr…..finders….help….urgent….death…please…..Mile High Hold**DDDD**_

"Rotten Harper" said T'rin, scornfully.

"Too unevenly beaten to be a Harper – even an inept one" said T'lana, getting up. "Maybe the death is of the Harper. Who's going to go?"

"What did the drums say, then?" asked K'shon.

They stared at him.

T'lana grinned.

"Sorry K'shon. We tend to forget that not everyone knows the beats. Mile High Hold is asking for a logicator to help over a death."

"I'm not Ranking" he said with some asperity.

T'rin chuckled.

"T'lana's not either. Well, she is now, but she taught herself. That's why it's not giving away craft secrets to teach beyond what the Ranking learn."

"I'll go!" volunteered Sagarra.

"No" T'lana vetoed it; and Sagarra took it philosophically enough. "T'rin?"

"Sure. If it's a Harper dead, it's Harper business. Who's coming with me?"

"I will" said H'llon. "In case you need the authority of a Bronze Rider. Zaira? There ought to be a woman along in case…."

His weyrmate nodded smiling.

T'rin turned.

"F'lim, you'll acknowledge?"

The young Harper nodded and set off at a run for the drumheights. He could not resist beating the acknowledgement with the accomplished flourish of a more than competent drummer!

Mile High Hold was set on a plateau approximately a mile above sea level; hence its name. It lay just inside Nabol territory, and occupied the cliff face that soared over the plateau. Its rich alpine pastures that ran down the mountainside in terraces were given over mostly to the raising of ungulates of various kinds; bovines grazed the lower pastures and the fine plateau itself, and the tinkling of bells was melodious in the early morning air. Ovines and caprines leaped nimbly about above the Hold, tended by various children of Hold and cot. There were tended fields too on the plateau, if not enough for self sufficiency as least enough to reduce what had to be bought in. T'rin recalled that much of the wealth of the Hold came not just from farmed hide and hair, but from trappers and hunters who roamed the mountains, holing up during Fall in caves and bothies common to all. Most valuable was the warm thick fur of the big omnivorous grizzly. The local variety sported black fur; T'rin recalled reading in records he had copied for Master Arnor that the fur lightened as one travelled east, and the size of the beast diminished. The Benden Red Grizzly weighed in at less than 200lb; hunting the black was a dangerous task, for they could be more than twice the size of the Benden beasts! T'rin presumed that the trappers would also hunt loggers, prized for the waterproof nature of their fur. They would presumably also not refuse coneys and their larger relatives gontermorras. Hunters could be rough people; he was glad of the large presence of H'llon, and half regretted having brought Zaira, hoping she would not be subject to too much insult!

The two dragons had landed at some distance from the grazing animals, near the rocky edge of the plateau, giving the dragonmen some distance to walk.

A richly dressed man was waiting at the heavy double door of the Hold; he did not look pleased and the angry reddish purple cast of his face clashed rather horridly with his embroidered magenta shirt.

"Dragonriders" his tone was flat. "I am so sorry that you have been to the trouble of coming over nothing. A boyish prank on the part of my wife's young brother, nothing more."

T'rin raised an eyebrow.

H'llon frowned.

"Are you saying that there has been no death, then?"

The florid man opened and shut his mouth once or twice.

"Well – yes, there has. But there is no need to trouble the Weyr about it."

"It's no trouble at all" T'rin smiled serenely. "Why don't we take a look at the body now we're here, and you tell us everything you know about it?"

The Holder – his name, T'rin had checked, was Noboro – audibly ground his teeth.

"I said it's nothing" he gritted.

"Your goodbrother didn't agree" said H'llon, shrewdly. "And don't you also feel that if it WAS no more than a prank, we'd want to ascertain that in order to discipline him for bringing us out here on the fools' errand you say it is?"

Noboro almost snarled. It gave him enough of a look of Meron that a relationship became apparent; when Meron had retained the Holding of Nabol he had filled Holds around with his cronies and relatives as rewards for their support. It did not endear him to the visitors. They ignored his opposition, however, and walked blithely past him into the Hold's entrance Hall.

Hovering inside was a youth of some fourteen turns. Fingermarks were apparent on his face. H'llon's eyes narrowed.

The boy said,

"I'm NOT wasting your time! I'm not! He was murdered, I'm sure, and whatever I may have thought of him, it's not right and he has his Rights to be avenged!"

"And you are?" asked T'rin.

"Jarleth. My sister Orna is married to that ….to Noboro."

"And who is it who is dead?" asked H'llon.

"His name is Glasno. He's been staying here. He's – he was – a friend of Noboro's."

Three pairs of eyes swung to look at the Holder as he followed them reluctantly in.

"A friend? A friend whose death is nothing?" asked H'llon. "Curious."

Holder Noboro spoke from between clenched teeth.

"All right! I didn't want you nosing in and intruding on my personal grief! You understand? It's obvious what happened. I have to live with that. Why can't you leave me to my grief?"

"Well if it's so obvious, why not tell us?" asked Zaira.

Noboro seemed almost to ignore her; he seemed oblivious to her question. H'llon snapped,

"Answer the weyrwoman!"

Noboro looked unsuccessfully for knots; Zaira was wearing none. It was a deliberate ambiguity she and H'llon sometimes used. Three firelizards hissing and trilling on her shoulders in time to H'llon's own four and T'rin's little white Prism made a sufficient impression however; few even Ranking people had one firelizard, let alone the multitude Zaira and H'llon owned between them!

Noboro said sulkily,

"Glasno must have got himself drunk in the Rowdy Room. It's a bad time of year for hunting, pelts are thin. Most of the men are about the Hold. He must have got himself into a brawl. He was found this morning by my steward with a broken neck."

T'rin itched to ask if it were Glasno or the steward with a broken neck to point out the poor grammatical construction; but resisted the temptation.

"That's an awful lot of assumptions leading to 'must haves'" he said. "It does not seem so obvious after all. We'll see the body" he added crisply "And we'll speak to your steward as the first of the potential witnesses. Has your lady been laying out the body?"

"I laid it out myself" said Noboro. "He was my friend, I've prepared him for the farewell ceremony."

"Orna wouldn't touch him" put in Jarleth. Noboro shot him a fulminating look.

"And we were waiting for you to show us the body" said Zaira, coldly. She tapped her little foot on the stone floor as if with impatience.

Noboro glared.

"I don't see what business it is of yours" he muttered. "I should order you out of my Hold."

"T'rin, did you want to nip and get Lord Deckter to clear this up?" asked Zaira. "You and Renpeth can be in Nabol and back almost before you leave if Holder Noboro wants our authority confirmed."

Noboro ground his teeth together.

"That won't be necessary" he managed. "Come this way" he almost minced off angrily.

T'rin muttered to H'llon,

"If we came THAT way we'd be chased by all the Green Riders in the Weyr!"

H'llon stifled a snort of laughter. He was by no means as naïve as he had been when first he came to the Weyr!

The body was laid out carefully and flowers lay around it, cultivated flowers that had been developed during the Long Interval as well as sweet herbs. Cup-and-saucer flowers were there in abundance; they also grew in great profusion just outside the Hold, T'rin recalled, carefully and enthusiastically tended, the waxy 'saucer' of sepals in a variety of pastel colours, not just the natural white, and the cup-shaped flower many shades of pink and red, and all the varieties larger flowered than the wild meadow flower that had developed the waxy sepals to enclose the flower head safely during Threadfall. In addition to the sweetly scented herbs there were sweetcandles, scented with some sickly fragrance strong enough to drown out the pleasant, subtle scents of lavender, balm and thyme. T'rin bit back an oath of disgust.

The dead man had been almost pretty in life; and the broken neck was unaccompanied by strangulation to spoil his looks by the inevitable changes of asphyxiation. His immaculate long locks were neatly combed and tied back. His hands were fine and delicate, with carefully manicured nails. A brief check showed that his feet were as well cared for too. He smelled faintly of sweet oil.

H'llon and T'rin exchanged glances.

"Zaira, why don't you go with Holder Noboro and go to find his wife?" said H'llon. "I'm sure she'd be glad of the presence of a woman in the circumstances."

Zaira shot him a look; but smiled winsomely at the Holder and rather pointedly took his arm.

He had little choice but to offer his escort.

As soon as he was out of the room, the two young men pulled away the rose-coloured covering and flipped the stiffened body over.

A quick examination revealed quite a lot.

"Dead – what, more than four hours too, probably longer" muttered T'rin "And laid neatly on his back after the deed – see where the blood has drained to and pooled in his buttocks, shoulders and thighs."

"He's almost fully stiff, but it's not starting to go off yet" said H'llon, checking the jaw "So no more than twelve hours….it's so variable, unfortunately. Shouls we guess around midnight?"

"It's cool in a stone Hold….could have been earlier, I'd not like to guess. What do you think of the drunken brawl suggestion?"

"This pretty boy?" H'llon's tone was disbelief, but he bent down to sniff the young man's mouth as they rearranged him. "There's the faintest whiff of wine on his breath, no more" he added.

T'rin grinned.

"Pity Master Robinton isn't here; he'd probably tell you where it was bottled and the vintage. Yes, I thought his perfume was heavier than wine or ale fumes."

"As to brawling, we'd have found bruises to back that story up. There are no contusions; no cuts. The only apparent bruising is the lividity. His neck seems to have been broken cleanly, with a small external mark" H'llon examined the hands again, this time using the logicator magnifying glass. "No hair or skin under the nails to betray an attacker….he didn't get the opportunity to claw at anyone. There's…..ah!" he examined a tiny, golden brown flake he had extracted. "Varnish, I'll wager" he said. "He sat in a chair with arms and grasped them convulsively as he died. Look, the other hand – tiny, almost imperceptible cuts now he's been washed and no blood flows; and here!" he excitedly pulled out a sliver of glass from a fold of skin. "He held a wine glass, and crushed it in spasm as he died! It's easy to break a man's neck from behind as he sits; I reckon even a woman or a tall child could do it."

There was a cry from the doorway.

"Are you accusing my sister? Or me?"

H'llon fixed Jarleth with a stern look.

"Young man, nobody's accusing anyone yet. But you drummed us in to get the truth; and that it is up to us to find out. We shall follow the facts docilely wherever they lead us!"

"Orna wouldn't do it. And I swear I didn't, ask your dragons – they can tell truth, can't they?"

"Lad, as to your innocence, I don't think you're a fool; and only a fool would call us in when covering it up seems to be the accepted way of things. As to your sister, well you did say she wouldn't touch him. You implied a dislike for him. Do you now deny that?"

"She HATED him! But she'd never kill anyone! Believe it!"

"Why did she hate him?" asked T'rin.

"Dunno. Well, I mean he was – slimy, if you know what I mean. And always fawning on Noboro like the spit hounds do on the cook. And he patted me on the head. YEUK!" he made a rude noise. "The serving drudges cordially detested him. He, like, lorded it over them, like he though he was of the Blood or someone special; but he wasn't. He wasn't even an apprentice in anything, let alone a journeyman or someone skilled; I heard it said he was a caprine herder. Which is a useful enough occupation, but…..you know in stories about girls wed above their station and how they treat drudges? He was like that."

T'rin nodded.

"Why did you call us in?"

"Well…. I suppose I felt a bit sorry for him. Because no-one liked him. And Noboro had asked him to go. They had a row. I heard some of it. I – I supposed he'd been killed by someone who didn't know he'd be leaving."

"He agreed to go then?"

"Well, he must have done, mustn't he? Noboro is the Holder. What he says, goes" said the boy reasonably.

"Look" said H'llon "If we're to get the truth, we need to talk to people. Can you fetch the steward, the Harper, if you have one, and….and the chief trapper?"

The boy nodded; and ran off.

H'llon turned to T'rin.

"I've learned enough since I've had more, er, exposure to a wider range of people to recognise certain relationships" he said. "The idea of Glasno 'fawning on' Noboro and the boy describing him like a woman married above her station allied with the unusual circumstance of a man laying out his friend – and so effeminately – suggests that they were lovers. Correct?"

T'rin nodded.

"And the physical signs we saw proves Glasno's preference at least, which is also suggestive. I concur. And jealousy is a common motive for murder. Is that why you wanted the boy out? To suggest his sister's motive?"

H'llon nodded.

"But it might have been jealousy on Noboro's part. If Glasno had another lover, say. Maybe that's what they rowed over and Noboro told him to leave as the lover spurned. Or the boy misheard and he said that some third party must leave. Or maybe Noboro is trying to mend bridges with his wife and Glasno threatened to tell her about their illicit relationship. Lots of possibilities."

"He's so angry!" said T'rin.

"And at whom?" asked H'llon.

"Jarleth – for calling in outsiders; and us for being outsiders. He really is afraid of a scandal I think. And he seems to be full of grief, that laying out was done with loving care."

"If he didn't do it, it could be that he knows or suspects who did; shells, he might be promiscuous and has other male lovers any one of whom might have killed the current favourite in pique or jealously. Or because they thought Glasno was bad for Noboro. Or whatever" H'llon shrugged. "We're playing 'what if'. We need to talk to more people to get a broader picture. If we can't get anywhere with the ones we're waiting for, I suggest you go butter up the Hold Aunties. Not much will pass them by I wager!"

"Heh, no bet taken!" said T'rin.

The dragonriders returned to an anteroom to await the people they had sent Jarleth to search for.

The Steward, Sibroc, arrived first, a tall austere man whose general demeanour suggested that an unpleasant smell sat a few inches below his nose.

T'rin gave him a brief smile.

"Please be seated" he said. "I understand that it was you who found the body?"

The supercilious look cracked a little to let out definite nervousness; the man wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as though to wipe out the unpleasant taste of fear.

"I – yes, that is correct."

"Can you tell us exactly where it was – and how it was lying? And how you came to find it?"

The Steward swallowed.

"There – there are stairs up from the common quarters to the family apartments, which was where Glasno was staying – in a family guest room. To the left at the bottom of the stairs are the kitchens and the – we call it the Rowdy Room. Where the trappers drink and let off steam. There are women there" he added apologetically, as though he expected them to be shocked. "To the right the sleeping quarters, male, female and married quarters, and dormitories for children. The body was on a half landing at the bend of the stairs. It looked peaceful; at first I thought he was asleep."

"Are those stairs well used?"

"Oh yes, we don't have a second flight for drudges and children like larger Holds do. Drudges and so on are up and down it all the time. People seeing the Holder on business, paying beholden rents on cots on his lands, things like that."

"At night?" put in H'llon.

Sibroc shrugged.

"No. After sundown the family has retired; personal drudges have quarters close to them. It'd not be used 'til dawn."

"So a body could easily lay there all night and you'd not expect anyone to find it."

"Yes, that's what must have happened. He must have slipped and fallen running up the stairs, a total accident."

"So many people tell us what 'must have' happened I'm starting to dislike the phrase intensely" growled H'llon.

"Tell me, Sibroc" said T'rin "Did Glasno commonly go down in the evening to spend time with the trappers and other men? And was he often late up to bed if so?"

Sibroc's features crumpled. H'llon had been thinking him to resemble a rather well bred llama; suddenly he looked more like a frightened coney as a wherry stooped.

"I – I don't know!" he almost squeaked. "I never took note of his habits!"

H'llon sat forward and rumbled ominously.

"Don't lie!" he thundered, his four firelizards scolding in unison to back him up.

Sibroc blenched.

"I don't think…. I didn't know him well. I never kept tabs on him. I never did it!"

H'llon grunted irritably,

"Did anyone say you did? Speak up man, if you're innocent, you've nothing to fear!"

Sibroc gibbered.

T'rin said,

"You should, I think, consider that your reactions look suspicious. What are you afraid of? Glasno catch you cheating the Holder?"

They could get no coherent answer; though there appeared to be vehement denials of cheating the Hold.

T'rin switched back to ask more about the body.

"You said you thought he was asleep. Why?"

Sibroc gulped and pulled himself a little more together.

"He was on his back. Just lying. Like – like he'd been laid out. I went to rouse him and his head….it lolled…" he gagged, and had to take several deep breaths. "He was so cold….i knew he was dead. I went straight away to tell Holder Noboro."

T'rin nodded dismissal and Sibroc thankfully escaped.

The young Harper's hearing was acute.

He heard the Steward whisper,

"If any of you lot killed Glasno, for shell's sake be careful. There's a Harper-Rider in there and his tame grizzly wearing Bronze knots."

There was an answering grunt; and a burly man came in. He was good looking in a rather rugged way with light bright blue eyes in a weatherbeaten face, surrounded by small lines partly of laughter and partly from screwing up his eyes against the glare off snow, that even with coloured glass goggles could be extreme.

He nodded casually.

"Deev. Chief trapper. That gibbering idiot Sibroc seems to think one of my boys bumped the poof" he said laconically.

T'rin raised an eyebrow.

"You would appear to assess, by your choice of words, that the dead man was….shall we say, effeminate to an extreme degree?"

"Too fardlin' right he was, and no need to wrap it up in Harper crack-jaw either! Creepy little sod! Meaning no offence….you being a Blue Rider…." The man broke off, looking embarrassed.

T'rin shrugged.

"As it happens I prefer women. But we do look on such things differently in the Weyrs. You do realise though, don't you, that I have to ask if any of your men might take sufficient offence at his, um, predilections to have been….hasty, leading to an accidental death?"

Deev roared with laughter.

"Naaah! He'd not go near my boys! Little caprine tried eyeing me up when he first came here, and I hung one on him! I told him, if he irritated me or my lads again, I'd spoil his pretty face for him! Reckon he believed me too" he added with a grin. "Reckon his business is his business and if he don't force it on others, I don't take offence; but he looked at people creepy, see? That's why I hit him right off, make sure he understood the score."

T'rin nodded.

"You didn't have any trouble from Holder Noboro for hitting and threatening his …..friend?"

"Naaah! We're his wealth, isn't it? Him, he wants to enjoy the fruits of our labour, even if he can't get any fruits of his own loins to pass it to" he paused "Though I heard tell his lady is finally breedin'. Dunno. Maybe he paid one of my boys to boff her" he shrugged nonchalantly. "Whatever."

"Do you have any idea who might have killed Glasno?"

Deev laughed again.

"Coulda bin anyone. Even our poncey Steward. Scared, ain't he? Reckons he'll be the easy scapegoat because he found the body I bet."

"I'd be much obliged" said T'rin "If you'd ask your men if they saw Glasno last night; or if indeed they saw anyone lurking on or near the half landing."

"Lurking, is it? Good-oh!" agreed the trapper. "Y'all done with me, isn't it? See yuh!" he added as T'rin nodded, and went off whistling rather macabrely a popular song about a murder in past times. T'rin knew the ballad, it involved a greedy man who killed his poor lover to whom he had contracted a secret espousal in order to marry a wealthy woman. He wondered if there was any message in it!

"Neat explanation of Sibroc's fear" said H'llon. "I guess we tend to forget that as soon as things go wrong a lot of people go to pieces."

"Yes" said T'rin. "And if he thinks that he might be made a scapegoat he has good reason to fear. This Deev strikes me as a pretty genuine fellow. What do you think?"

"Either that or he's a remarkably good actor. I don't think he told us any lies. I'd not answer for him not having told us everything."

"Yes, I thought there might be something he was holding back on" said T'rin "He talked a lot without saying that much really."

"He could care less that Glasno is dead; and doesn't trouble to hide it. I am certain that he believes that none of the trappers did it; and I don't think he did it either. Where's that Harper?"

"I don't know" said T'rin in irritation. "And where's that boy Jarleth? He was supposed to get all three."

"I'm here" Jarleth put his head round the door. "Torrilinel isn't up yet."

"Not up yet? Why ever not?" asked H'llon surprised. "Is he sick? It's four hours after dawn already!"

Jarleth quirked an eyebrow and mimed draining a glass, making realistic glugging noises.

"Is this a usual state of affairs?" asked T'rin disapprovingly.

"Oh yes" said Jarleth. "He usually sobers up long enough to get drunk again. He's not much of a Harper I'm afraid, his voice is wine thinned and his favourite instrument is the tink of bottle on glass."

"And a fine observer HE'd be" T'rin grunted.

"I helped to put him to bed last night" the boy volunteered. "If he got up for the Necessary and saw anything, it's fifty marks to a bag of crackdust he'd not remember it anyways."

T'rin was a Harper.

His swearing was fluid and imaginative and very articulate. It covered the antecedents, parentage and further ancestry of the unfortunate Torrilinel, together with his habits, cleanliness, sexual proclivities and future survival.

"In other words" said H'llon, as T'rin ran out of swear words, "Even if he did see anything he couldn't distinguish between that and the pink tunnel snakes crawling up the walls."

"Fish" said the boy.

"Pardon?" said H'llon.

"He sees fish. Swimming though the air. Big spiny ones with teeth."

"Hmmph" said H'llon. "I don't think we'll even bother to speak to HIM!"

Zaira slid into the room, smiling with grim satisfaction; though there was a look of tightly controlled disgust in her eyes. She came over to H'llon and slipped a hand into his.

"Did she open up?"

"Like boxflower after Fall's over. Once I got rid of Noboro" said the girl.

"How did you do that?" asked T'rin curiously.

Zaira gave a wicked little chuckle.

"Lady Orna is pregnant" she said. "I can recognise the signs. So I got technical and very, very graphic. Like most men he fled."

H'llon blushed.

"You don't need to tell us any more" he said hastily.

"And?" T'rin asked.

"Noboro" said Zaira with distaste "Is quite loathsome. That his tastes run to other men is, well, understandable and not his fault. That he had Glasno in the same bed with Orna to excite him and moved from being inside him to inside her is frankly repellent."

"It's unhygienic!" declared H'llon pulling a face of distaste.

"Precisely" said Zaira. "S'net and S'negen are always careful about being with either B'kas or Geriana….girl talk" she added hastily as H'llon looked outraged that she would know the private details of other people's love life. "I asked, all right? I was worried she might catch something to spoil her chances of Impression, the time she was standing…anyway, Lady Orna HAS had some nasty infections. But now she's pregnant she's hoping it's a boy so he'll leave her alone. She detests both of them, by the way."

"Do you think she did it?" asked T'rin bluntly.

Zaira shook her head.

"I spoke to her personal drudge, a nice girl, not too bright but quite capable. Orna's having a bad pregnancy. She was being sick every evening and went to bed with some fellis. Meeva adores her mistress; but I didn't let on why I was asking. I made it like I was just sympathetic about how ill Orna is; which wasn't hard because I am."

"Good work" said H'llon, hugging her comfortingly. He knew how much more shocked she really was than she was letting on!

Jarleth was staring, trying to collect himself on hearing this news.

"So THAT's why she hates him so? BASTARD! I'll kill him!"

"No you won't lad" H'llon caught the boy's arm as he made to run off. "He'll get his desserts. You'll see."

"How?" the boy was sceptical.

"You've not worked it all out? Maybe not. T'rin?"

T'rin nodded.

"Glasno was a tool for Noboro to get the heir he desires but can't sire without extra…..stimulation. his wife is now pregnant. Several months gone, or Zaira would maybe not notice. Enough to be certain there won't be an early miscarriage. He can send Glasno away. There's been a quarrel. Maybe Glasno was getting more demanding; maybe he just didn't want to lose a cushy number and threatened to create a stink of scandal if Noboro didn't keep him on. Noboro probably reluctantly agreed. Glasno felt triumphant. But Noboro was uncomfortable. Suppose Glasno should talk anyway? So he got him sat comfortably in a chair with a glass of wine. When we find which room has a varnished chair with arms, we can look for the shards of glass where it shattered in Glasno's death spasm when Noboro came behind him and broke his neck."

"Varnished chair? With arms? That's in Noboro's private sitting room. How can you know that?" asked Jarleth.

"Glasno told us how he gripped it in cadaveric spasm. As he gripped and crushed a wine glass with the other. But you see, Noboro had in a way loved Glasno. He could not bear to kill him in a way that would disfigure him. And as a final act of perverted loyalty he put his lover's body on the stairs 'as though he was laid out' as Sibroc described it."

"A pretty story" Noboro's voice sneered from the doorway. "Harpers are known for their pretty stories; and there are plenty left who believe that they sing lies and can't resist embellishment at the very least. Who do you think would believe such a fantasy?"

T'rin looked at him gravely.

"The evidence is there, Noboro. It has been seen by a Bronze Rider. Are you saying that Lord Deckter will doubt his sworn word, or indeed the sworn word of any dragonman?"

"Evidence? What evidence?"

"You heard the story. Every corpse tells its own story. The varnish from YOUR chair and the glass of YOUR wine glass are on his hands. You have due cause and motive."

Noboro screamed like a trapped coney; and drew a knife.

"Then the Bronze Rider must not testify!" he screamed.

H'llon paused; assessed; and kicked the Holder in the knee. He stumbled, not expecting so childish a tactic; and Zaira, forgotten by the Holder, brought a heavy chair down upon his head from behind.

Noboro fell heavily.

"You broke it!" accused H'llon, for one of the legs had flown off.

"Better a chair than my chairmaker" retorted Zaira. "Besides, it wouldn't have broken if it had been made properly. His head's not that hard."

Lord Deckter was not appreciative of his relative's behaviour.

"You'll be beginning to think we're all violent perverts in Nabol" he grumbled.

H'llon shrugged.

"You are kind enough to give trust to the logicators to find and weed out bad people" he said. "Naturally we see the worst ones. Please don't think that we in any way feel that they in any way reflect normal people."

"I'm glad you feel that way" said Deckter, relaxing slightly.

"We've seen all sorts. All over" shrugged H'llon. "Good as well as bad. And by the way, I'd like to steal the boy Jarleth as a candidate."

"It's an honour for the boy; I wish him luck" said Deckter. "Thanks again, Bronze Rider."

Lord Deckter spoke to Orna; he had no prejudices against female Holders.

Orna had her own ideas.

"My Lord" she said, her eyes cast down "I have a confession of my own."

"Indeed?" Deckter looked uncomfortable.

"Yes, My Lord. Since the only way to stop the terrible humiliation and degradation of my husband's efforts to get me with child, I determined to become pregnant by – by another source" she looked. "I committed adultery, My Lord. This child is NOT of my husband's Blood."

"Hmm" said Deckter. "Clever. Frankly, I don't care that much about the Blood. And you are related to the Blood anyhow, if anyone should care. Tell me about the fella you picked; you needn't marry him if you'd rather not, but if you want to, you have my blessing."

She flushed.

"He's rather….uncouth; but he's honest and kind. He understood. And not one rumour about it has escaped his lips – even to the dragonriders."

Deckter slapped his knee.

"Bless me, it's that fello Deev!" he cried.

She looked down.

"Well, girl, if I make him Holder, will you wed him?"

She looked up, her cheeks stained.

"With all my heart, Lord."

T'rin was impressed that the man had let no hint of his feelings for his Lady escape; for when he, H'llon and Zaira visited for the wedding it was plain by his tender treatment that he adored his bride!

"Hmm" said H'llon. "Both possible assessments I made are correct. An honest man – and a clever actor. A rare combination. I wager his children will either Impress or be Harpers."

"And a master stroke to suggest that Noboro got someone else to get her pregnant" added Zaira. "If there had been gossip after the birth, the dragonriders could be relied on to remember that the suggestion had been made."

"And a brave man too" said T'rin. "For he covered for his lady as well as for himself in that bold unconcern."

"He'll make a good Holder" said H'llon; and raised his glass in a toast to Deev. The new Holder raised his own, with an unrepentant grin.

T'rin said later to the logicators,

"Lord Bargen would not have sorted it that way."

T'lana smiled.

"Lord Bargen isn't as flexible as Deckter; he's older, and he's more entrenched in custom to try to avoid another Fax."

"Lord Deckter is clever" opined H'llon.

"Lord Bargen's not stupid!" M'gol put in.

"No, but he's not exactly overburdened with brains, is he?" argued T'lana. "He's attained his Right, and doesn't want to jeopardise the position he won so hardly. He doesn't have to be clever; Lords Holder, like Bronze Riders, don't need brains. Only integrity" and as all the Bronze Riders of her acquaintance opened their mouths indignantly to refute her imputations on their intellect she added "It's why they keep Stewards; or in the case of Bronze Riders, weyrwomen."

T'lana disappeared under a pile of thrown pillows and cushions!


	15. Chapter 15

_A/N the back story of Elexa and Elena coming to the Weyr is to be found in 'Kaili the Whisperer' which I was intending to post right after 'Logicators' is done [There are 20 chapters in 'Logicators']._

**15 On the Harsh Realities of Substance and Shame**

The logicators found Elexa an interesting study when she came to the Weyr with her daughter Elena after poisoning the unpleasant Lord Aven, her half brother. Lord Bargen had exonerated her of all blame in light of the man's behaviour, stating categorically that any woman had the right to protect a child of hers from harm.

Elexa kept herself aloof; and would have been amazed at the information the logicators amassed about her; and they discussed her as they lounged about in the shade in the Bowl, Horgey and Imbelline hoisted down by dragons in wheeled chairs.

"She looks wistful sometimes when we laugh together" said B'lova "Just in the depths of her eyes. I recognise it. It's how I felt about you lot" she nodded at T'lana and the other, more senior weyrwomen "Before I found out how to behave properly."

"There's nothing wrong with her behaviour, though" puzzled H'llon "She doesn't estrange herself from us by being obnoxious – er, sorry, B'lova, no offence intended."

B'lova laughed.

"None taken, H'llon; I WAS obnoxious" she said. "But you're right, she's impeccably polite and never shirks a thing."

T'lana smiled.

"Why, dear ones, she's afraid" she said.

"What of?" Y'lara asked ungrammatically. "We're fairly harmless."

"Harmless?" her weyrmate M'kel protested "A seabred virago like you?"

Y'lara thumped him lovingly, and M'kel chuckled.

"But what IS she afraid of?" asked J'nara from the circle of M'gol's arms. "Joking apart, we ARE harmless. She's got Rank; she's rid of Aven, and not even held to blame; her daughter is safe and she's surrounded by dragons. What could there possibly be for her to fear?"

"Some might say, the dragons" said M'gol dryly "But I take your point, love; for she shows no fear of dragons at all, in fact I heard her asking Orth to move his tail while she fetched water for washing down the dormitories."

They all looked at T'lana.

"What, do I have to spill? Yes, I see I do" said the little weyrwoman. "It's rejection she's afraid of. It's being used she's afraid of" she went on, "Think you, she was married far too young to please her sire, Fax; her brother has always used her. She's grown hard – on the outside. But I don't think she ever stopped screaming on the inside. And she also has the vulnerability of having a daughter to fear for and worry about. She's determined to see Elena happy – and I think she's afraid to relax until that's settled. And the whisper went round that she killed the old man Fax married her to as well as her confessed poisoning of Aven. And she's not by nature as ruthless and remorseless as she'd like people to think. She is afraid we'll hold back from her because of that, so she's defending herself by holding back and keeping aloof first. She'll drive people away; which she'll find hurtful but will give her the backhanded satisfaction of fulfilling her expectations."

"So we need to be firmly friendly at her" said soft hearted J'nara wiping away a spontaneous tear of sympathy.

"Precisely, dear one" said T'lana.

"It would perhaps be better" suggested R'gar, who usually listened more than he spoke, ensuring thereby that everyone gave him full attention on the rare occasions when he did comment "Far better if the overtures of friendship came from you ladies initially. She's used to being used by men. I've heard yet another story – that Aven used to offer her to those men he wanted to bribe, treating her like a high class loving wench."

"Can't we go _Between_ time and kill him again?" suggested the normally gentle J'nara fiercely.

"It'd still only be once for him" said Y'lara regretfully "And it wouldn't work because it's already happened and if you tried to change history it would probably make Pern explode or something. It's a nice thought, though, isn't it, going back and killing him over and over."

Most of the women murmured assent!

"To befriend her is my task perhaps" said Mirielle. "She has at least spoken more than two words to me. She said my sister was a gutsy little thing. It's a way inside."

Elexa wasn't far away. As always she wondered what the disparate group spoke about so animatedly; and envied their easy camaraderie that seemed to transcend rank.

She was, like the logicators, overcome by curiosity when a Blue Rider came in to land and almost fell off his dragon, carrying a bundle carefully and rather awkwardly. The bundle moved in his arms.

The Rider was V'ral; and most people, weyr-like, recognised Sledeth first

T'lana sighed as she got up to approach V'ral. He was well known for his tongue-tied inability to impart information. T'lana anticipated that getting an explanation of why he was visibly upset , that would probably necessitate two or three sentences, would take half the afternoon!

It became apparent as they approached V'ral that the squirming bundle that he carried was a baby; and it let its disapproval of travelling dragonback known vocally.

"That was quick" quipped T'lana "I didn't even know you were pregnant, V'ral."

V'ral gave her a lopsided half grin; he might not be able to string together a dozen coherent words, but his intellect was by no means impaired, and he appreciated T'lana realising that and teasing him! He spoke in his usual idiom.

"Like, kind of thing, couldn't leave her, know what I mean?"

For V'ral, that was articulate! He gazed at T'lana with big puppy eyes, evidently expecting her to fix the problem.

T'lana had only to find what the problem actually was.

"You couldn't leave her where?" she asked, patiently, kicking K'len in the ankles as she heard him make a side bet with M'kel over how many times V'ral said 'kind of thing'. K'len winced in stoic silence. T'lana was his clutchmate; and he was in the habit of obedience to her wishes!

V'ral said,

"Outside."

"What about her mother?" asked T'lana.

"Well, kind of thing, her mother, like, left her, kind of thing. Know what I mean?"

"You mean she left the baby while she went to do something? Was Thread due? V'ral, she'll be so worried about her baby, we must take her back at once!"

V'ral shook his head violently.

"No – kind of thing – left deliberately, know what I mean?" he was agitated and close to tears.

T'lana took the baby and rocked her, soothingly. The infant tried to turn into her chest, mouth open and questing.

"Why, she's only a few hours old, I swear!" she said, taking off layers of furs from the tiny baby. "You've wrapped her well, V'ral. Well done. Z'linda? Can you feed her?" she turned to her cousin.

Z'linda shrugged and pulled a face.

"I've only late milk….Zaynan's six sevendays old. But I guess it's better than nothing." To V'ral's embarrassment she undid her shirt and slipped aside her breast bands after handing Zaynan to his father Z'kan.

The baby fastened on.

"OW!" laughed Z'linda "She's eager!"

"Her mother – like, she's just a kiddie" said V'ral. "I was, like, sleeping. Sledeth and me, kind of thing, been swimming. Nice weather, know what I mean? Anyway, kind of thing, heard the noise, pain sort of cry, kind of thing. Stuck my head round the rock, know what I mean? Seen the kid. Left the baby kind of thing. Said goodbye to it" he spread his hands hopelessly.

T'lana went mildly unfocused for a moment.

"Sledeth says" she said "That the girl birthed on the shore and laid the child BELOW the high tide mark. He remembers her talking to the baby and saying that the ship fish would take her, and that no-one must know she had ever existed; and that she had to go before she was missed. Sledeth is confused and puzzled and I'm not surprised. How could it be that no-one would know of the child's existence? Pregnancy isn't exactly something you can conceal."

Mirielle sniffed.

"Not everyone blooms with twins the first time, you know T'lana, nor carries all before them. Kaili managed to conceal Lassari and Keeran, even though they were twins, for months."

"Yes, love, you always do have your babies come into the room several minutes before you follow them" put in Pilgra. "Many women with a first baby show very little until the last."

"And in some backward communities it's considered shameful for evidence of your pregnancy to show anyway, even a legitimate one" said J'nara.

A'ira and Sibealle nodded. The latter added,

"And as a healercraft drudge I often heard of women who had birth complications because they had bound up their bellies to hide things. It has to do with trying to function as normal because it's supposed to just be part of a woman's job."

T'lana snorted; then said,

"Concealment aside, what kind of family had she to make it necessary?"

Y'lara laughed harshly.

"A babe conceived out of wedlock? Even by rape? This is a seahold, obviously, if it is on the coast. And rape is always the woman's fault. If her father knew, she'd be beaten to make her miscarry; and beaten daily until she DID miscarry."

"Like Derinik did to Rillys? I thought that was just an isolated incident" even T'lana was shocked. "And I thought I'd seen just about everything; seems I've missed some of the more primitive habits people can have."

"Excuse me, weyrwoman"

It was Elexa who spoke: and T'lana turned to her with a welcoming smile.

"Elexa?"

"It's not uncommon either to expose unwanted babies, you know. Not just those born outside of espousal, though that's a major reason. Many poorer families expose girl babies as relatively useless and a lot of extra expense – the other way round in values to Ranking families who want one son for inheritance and daughters for alliances, who won't cause problems by fighting" she flushed a little as all eyes turned on her. "I – I've not led a very gregarious existence" she explained "But I found that – that survival comes easier if you have knowledge. I've spent most of my life watching people. I've even seen babies – usually smothered beforehand – put out with the ashes."

"Great Shells!" exclaimed T'lana. "That's terrible! But, Elexa, you should have joined our meetings before if you're such a good and experienced observer. We logicators are a nosy bunch! But you say exposure is common?"

Elexa pulled a sneer.

"For weyrfolk, children are, I think, rare and precious. Because of infertility. With too many mouths to feed, keeping the older ones alive becomes and issue."

"But why kill live ones?" said T'lana. "why not just take herbs to prevent pregnancy? It keeps a woman healthier too to spread them out, and don't look at me like that, Pilgra, it's not my fault my family is unusually fertile and the herbs don't always work."

Pilgra grinned, and Elexa said seriously,

"Weyrwoman, many women are kept in ignorance of the herbs. They might use them to prevent the conception of useful boys to work the land. Girls can always be got rid of once they are born. As of course can the inconvenient babies" she clenched her fists.

T'lana put a hand on her arm and looked the question.

"Aven took my son and strangled him" she said, tonelessly. "And I concealed my pregnancy all the way through. He caught me birthing; I had meant to have him fostered safely. The babe's father was nothing, but he was of the Blood and Aven wanted no potential rival to claim his Hold that he fought to win, for he was never acknowledged by Fax, you know. His mother was a drudge, a bastard of Meron's father. He used his connection with Meron to claim Blood after Fax died, for my father never gave him more than a captaincy. And my baby might have had better claim if I'd cared to press it."

The weyrwomen clamoured against Aven a second time; and Elexa found herself the centre of a supportive group touching her arms and shoulders and face in sympathy and offering reassurance. She half melted; then stiffened.

"He's dead. It doesn't bring him back" she said, angrily.

"No" said T'lana "But we can at least do what we can to save others."

"How?" said Elexa, scornfully.

"We're already known to take unwanted children. We're starting to fund that with crafts. We'll just have to extend it to babies" said T'lana. "Unless the Lords Holder will take them on, what else can we do? For they won't, and even if they would, it would mean having to take babies to them. Dragons go everywhere."

"It's not the Lords Holders' business" said Elexa. "Babies by law belong to their families."

"And if the families abrogate their responsibility?"

"Tough."

"Why don't we" said Z'linda, absently winding the baby girl "Ask Lord Deckter if he'll help fund it? He calls himself kinsman to us through his mother. And he's a reasonable man."

"And I'll ask grandfather" said L'rilly.

"And I my father" said B'lova.

"And I" said D're "Could be slipped quietly into other Weyrs carrying errands when they've clutches; and make bets on the colours of the eggs. Why should High Reaches be the only Weyr to pay out, for sure? Jays, tis the job of all dragonriders to protect, so it is, as m'good friend H'llon is always sayin' and those that mock can well afford for us to be stealin' them blind, so to say" he added, "And we'll raise these unwanted babes ourselves, not let some Holder have the opportunity of free drudges. New blood's always good, so it is."

K'shon said,

"At Ista, we were small – so we built weyrs on the outside of the mountains. Could we build a childhold that was here, but separate? If we get large numbers, I mean…"

T'lana quickly shook her head.

"I take your point, dear one, but we won't make second class people of them having them of, yet not of the Weyr" she said. "We could, however, build out and hollow out from the other side for access to terrain to farm – we're going to have to grow more food for ourselves if we're taking on extra mouths – and there's no reason our orphans shouldn't help with that – but there must be free connection through."

K'shon considered.

"I understand" he said. "Say, I can probably get some of my friends at Ista to help support the childhold, with crafts or marks."

"Good, and we'll gladly take any orphans they want to help too" said T'lana, smiling warmly at him.

"Sanitation" said H'llon.

"What?" asked L'rilly, mystified.

"Yes, obviously we'll need extra sanitation" said T'lana "And fires to heat water and rooms because new rooms won't be using the system the Ancients did to heat things. But listen! Every four or five turns we pump the cistern that the necessaries go to; it's why the trees grow so lush on the western slopes. I know; I was on punishment duty helping when I was a weyrling. But here's the interesting thing: when you open it up you have to be careful not to have a flame near it – for it can explode. It's like mine gas, Master Nicat told me, for I asked him once. But maybe if we could tap that gas, we could burn it in a controlled way for heat, light and cooking – and save some of the expense of fuel. The miners use a lamp with a metal mesh, because it can't be exploded by a flame through that if they're using lamps or candles instead of glows for some reason. Master Nicat says he demonstrates the principle to apprentices and explains that this is why apprentices – or weyrlings I guess – who set light to their farts OUTside their trews never suffer from blowback. Unlike some people we know" she said severely looking at K'len. K'len made a point of looking up innocently to examine one of the seven spindles. T'lana went on, "Doesn't your Sherlock Holmes speak of gas lighting, H'llon? I doubt it's as good as glows, but…."

"He does indeed!" cried H'llon excitedly. "It can be done!"

"Good. Bend your mind to it, note all references to gas in case they're of use, then go chat to Master Nicat and Master Fandarel too" said T'lana. H'llon nodded eagerly.

"Are you, kind of thing, going to keep her here?" asked V'ral, almost forgotten by the logicators.

"Yes we are. Egg knows who'll foster her, but yes" said T'lana.

"I've plenty of milk" said Z'linda "I might as well foster her at first and feed her. We'll have to name her."

"Are you planning on taking an interest in her, V'ral?" asked T'lana.

The Blue Rider nodded.

"Dear little thing, know what I mean?" he reached out to brush the tiny fist of the now sleeping baby girl.

"Then if you've no objections, let her be your foster daughter as well as of whoever we find to care for her and name her for you?" suggested T'lana.

V'ral went deep red; and nodded, pleased, even more lost for words than ever.

"What were you before you Impressed?"

"Veselral."

"Vessella? Veralla? Ralina?" T'lana suggested several alternatives.

"Veralinne" said V'ral, firmly.

"Veralinne it is" said T'lana, not batting an eyelid.

"Benden bred, is he?" whispered J'nara to M'gol.

"How did you guess?"

"Only Benden Weyr saddles its brats with such names – like Fallarnon, Famanoran and – Marthengol" she retorted.

"May I say" put in Elexa "This is all very well; but if you intend to gather up unwanted babies, [a] who's going to feed any others you bring in and [b] how do you get to find them?"

"I don't have all the answers " said T'lana "But [a] we'll have to pay wetnurses; [b] if we let it be known that we'll take unwanted extra mouths and give out that a signal can be laid on the ground to indicate there's an unwanted babe we'll get at least those babies born legitimately that can't be afforded, or the disabled ones; and maybe some unwed mothers will place out a signal together with their babe in an out of the way spot such as they would take them to expose them instead of merely leaving the baby out at the mercy of the elements and Thread. It's no guarantee, Elexa, but can you think of anything better?"

The woman shook her head.

"No I can't. Yes, I see what you mean; if there is a recognised sign it can also be put out anonymously. I think that has potential. What then about caring for them?"

"A'ira and Sibealle can't be the only widows who'd like to start again – they're unusual in being happy around dragons, up close and personal, I mean. There'd be those not prepared to be candidates I wager who'd be happy to be valued as foster mothers I guess."

"Plenty" said Sibealle dryly. "I can think of a few right away."

"Good" said T'lana "Go with A'ira and collect them up. I'll go and sort out temporary quarters and an interim babyhold. There's rooms never used in the lower caverns with stuff stored in them that don't need the heat they still have."

R'gar groaned.

"The sooner you hatch that babe and stop organising the rest of us into the ground the better!" he teased.

T'lana stuck out a cheerful tongue at him!

V'ral managed,

"T'lana, should I, kind of thing, see the girl and like, tell her, kind of thing, what's happening?"

Everyone stared at him in varying degrees of horror at the thought of his stumbling through an explanation to a terrified young girl.

Y'lara said,

"I'm in my middle trimester; I'm safe to travel. I'll come with you, V'ral. If you can point her out, it's something that might come better from a woman. And I'm seabred too."

V'ral gave her a profoundly grateful smile.

T'lana stared, open mouthed.

"Y'lara. Tact. Tact. Y'lara. Kind of thing" she muttered wildly. "And Deckter called her tolerant not so long ago? I really HAVE seen it all now!"

"Who's going to break it to T'bor?" asked Pilgra.

T'lana smiled sweetly.

"Why, who but you, his Weyrwoman, dear Pilgra" she said.

"Threadscored if I will!" yelped Pilgra "You do it!"

T'lana shrugged.

"All right" she said, walking towards the Weyrleader's quarters.

"On second thoughts….." said Pilgra hastily.

"Whatever the Weyrwoman wants" murmured T'lana.

"MINX!" declared her friend, not for the first time!


	16. Chapter 16

**16 The Man of No Tomorrows**

Elexa asked leave to be part of a party to seek for a wetnurse to help Z'linda out with the feeding of little Veralinne; and pointed out that she had seen enough of life not to be taken in by someone hoping to use the Weyr and having no interest in helping a motherless baby.

Y'lara grinned.

"I'm not all that innocent myself – but I do take your point. I'll ferry you up and down, so we can confer if need be; but you're so obviously the Lady, that it'll help keep the more forward ones from getting too insolent."

High Reaches Hold seemed a good place; and Elexa arranged with the Harper Samwil to give out that the Weyr were looking for a wetnurse without ties, prepared to relocate to the Weyr.

Four women gathered for the post; and as the last came into the anteroom of the office the women had been assigned there was muttering.

One of the women went up to the last comer and pushed her.

"They don't mean YOUR kind, slut. Just because they're weyrfolk don't mean they want your kind of dirt."

The woman stumbled backwards; and Y'lara was there to steady her.

"You" the seabred Green Rider pointed to the woman who did the pushing "You're dismissed. We'll not have any bully that's prepared to act violence at the Weyr set over children."

The woman stared.

"But she's a loving wench! Dirt!" she exclaimed "You couldn't know that, weyrwoman…."

"What SHE is, is not at issue" Elexa cut in coldly. "What YOU are is what the weyrwoman objects to. You chose to use violence; the weyr does not want that sort of behaviour taught to its children nor yet unreasoning prejudice. Get out."

The woman cast a fulminating glare at all; the most venomous reserved for the unfortunate loving wench. She did, however, leave as bid.

"ARE you a loving wench?" asked Y'lara bluntly. The woman nodded. Y'lara went on, "Have you ever had any sores or intimate itching or malodorous discharge?"

The young woman stared; and shook her head.

"No, Lady."

Y'lara shrugged.

"Then you're clean of disease and can't therefore pass it in your milk. You're as eligible as anyone else."

"Please" the woman begged, laying a hand on Y'lara's arm "Even if you don't pick me, may I appeal to the Weyr? They say that dragonfolk right wrongs."

"Certainly" replied Y'lara promptly as Elexa opened her mouth to give a more cautious answer. "But we can only ever do our best – and if it's a task for Lord Holder Bargen then we'll see it has a fair airing before him, for Weyr does not interfere in Hold."

The woman bowed her head in acquiescence.

"Well, let us begin" said Elexa. "As we have a second room to our use I think it only fair to interview in order of arriving, though we shall talk to all and hear any other matters you may wish to bring before us" she nodded to the other remaining two and withdrew into the inner room, followed by Y'lara.

Both women took an instant dislike to the first woman. She made reference to 'poor Lillis' – the loving wench, it seemed – that at first appearance might only have been tactless, but that made the two weyr women exchange more than one significant look. She managed to throw doubt on Lillis' honesty and suggested that the woman had in fact killed her own baby the better to practice her profession. Y'lara told her to wait and dismissed her from the room.

"Poisonous tunnel snake" she commented to Elexa. Elexa nodded.

"I don't get much impression from her that she was sorry her babe died either" commented the older woman. "The chance to be a wetnurse in a relatively easy position so obviously attracts her, she's practically drooling over a soft and luxurious life. Note how she skirted round the issues of family ties. I wager she has other little ones she'd gladly leave."

Y'lara nodded.

"And if she'd walk out on her own, she'd not be one to give love to our waifs and strays" she said. "And Veralinne and others need more than just milk - they need someone to love them too."

"I'm glad that's been considered in the careful and analytical decisions of what's needed" said Elexa. "I did wonder…"

"Huh" said Y'lara "I don't do much of the more mawkish outer shows of affection, and nor does my family; but I've always known I was loved, and I've seen enough mixed up brats that aren't to know how fardling important it is. And things like that don't pass T'lana by. She was raised by her mother's husband, she was sired by a dragonman, and she appreciates that he loved her, even if he was weak enough to be bullied by Meron. Love fills in for a whole quantity of want through poverty. Let's see the next" she added hastily, in case Elexa said anything vaguely mawkish; and went to call her in.

The next woman, Jacklinne, was overweight and with a figure that told of too much childbearing. She eyed the women from the Weyr cautiously.

"May I be blunt, Weyrwomen?" she asked.

"Oh, please do" murmured Y'lara. Elexa hid a smile. She had already learned that 'blunt' could have been the rather peppery Green Rider's second name.

The woman collected herself and took a deep breath.

"You – you asked for people without ties. Well, I've a husband and children; but if you'd accept extra baggage I'd ask leave if I were chosen to bring my surviving daughters and leave my husband" she said.

"I'll need to hear more details about why you should do this before we make any decision" said Elexa.

Jaklinne shrugged.

"I'm sick of bearing a dead baby every nine months in the vain effort to get him a son; getting fatter and iller every time and to be rewarded for my efforts with nothing but curses and blows for failing my duty. I don't want my little girls to have the same future" she ended simply.

Elexa and Y'lara looked at each other.

"Wait outside for now. Who is chosen as wetnurse is still at issue" said Y'lara carefully "But it is the right of anyone to come to the Weyr that wants to; and I'd say you and your daughters have just cause for complaint. We'll certainly take you."

The woman let out an explosive sigh of relief.

"Thank you! I was so afraid you'd pick only Lillis because the Weyr likes to help the underdog. And I've nothing against her, but my daughters are everything to me!"

Y'lara nodded.

"I understand. But to our mind you're an underdog too; and your daughters in need of aid, and you too, for your choices are as limited as Lillis'. Now please send her in."

Jaklinne waddled away.

"A typical example of Hold womanhood" said Elexa bitterly "And her husband considered a good upright man by others, and commiserated with over his wife's failings. And her loss of looks her fault as well too in his eyes."

Y'lara made a short, ugly comment; it made Elexa pull a wry smile.

Lillis the loving wench knocked, and entered.

"Tell us how we may help you first" said Y'lara.

The young woman bit her lip.

"I – I had a baby" she began. "It happens; there are herbs for those of us who don't get to go _Between_, and sometimes they fail….." she stared sideways at the now apparent gentle curves beginning on Y'lara's belly.

"There are safe times to go _Between_ for those of us who choose to have children" the young weyrwoman said dryly "And we do know about the herbs – and their occasional failure. It's why Weyrwoman T'lana is weyrbound right now, not wanting to risk _Between_ on her third pregnancy" she exchanged a wry look with Elexa. T'lana's gravid state always brought out what her weyrmate R'gar called a 'fix-it mania' and being weyrboud did nothing for the little red-haired weyrwoman's temper.

Lillis looked thoughtful.

"She's the red headed lady who solves mysteries, isn't she? Please, are you a special friend of hers?" she asked as Y'lara nodded to the first question.

"Yes. Yes, I guess I am" replied Y'lara. "I'm one of the people who help to solve mysteries and fix things for her when she's busy."

"Then I hope you can help….anyway, I had my baby, and he was beautiful" she sniffed hard and a tear escaped by the side of her eye. Elexa bit her lip; Y'lara, ever practical, passed her a handkerchief. She dabbed at the offending tear and sniffed; then went on,

"I couldn't stop work, obviously" she said "I have to eat. But Lisan was colicky, and he cried a lot. And I was with a client during the Gather, who got irritable. He said he was good with babies and offered to quiet him" she sobbed suddenly and buried her face for a moment in the handkerchief. When she looked up her eyes were haunted. "He – he went through, and soon Lisan was quiet. I – I actually congratulated him before he – he finished with me!" she gulped "And then after he'd gone, I went through, and – and Lisan was dead! He'd strangled him!" she sobbed again.

Elexa put an awkward arm around the sobbing woman; and Lillis turned to her crying furiously.

_Why, she's hardly any older than my Elena!_ Thought Elexa; and comforted her as she would her own daughter.

Y'lara waited for the storm to fade: and interposed,

"Lillis, if we are to do something, we need to know who this – this creature is" her voice was hard and cold. "We need a name, if you have one, and as full a description as you can give us."

Lillis swallowed several times.

"He gave his name as Joris. He was big and blonde, with longish, rather greasy hair and an old knife scar on his left forearm. Muscular, running to flab. He was in his mid to late thirties. He stank of runnerbeasts; and he said he was a trader."

"Well done, Lillis. That's well observed – and well remembered" said Y'lara. "It'll make our job easier."

"And I'll remember that creature until I die!" spat Lillis venomously. "Son of the Red Star! I hope he visits someone who IS diseased and dies as Meron did!"

"If I have my way, he'll die a deal sooner than THAT!" said Y'lara grimly. "Be assured we will do our best to bring him to justice. Now, so you wish to come to the Weyr too?"

"As a wetnurse?"

"To help with milk if you will. We thought" – Y'lara flicked a glance at Elexa, knowing the Ranking woman to be a little touchy, and was glad to receive a nod – "We thought to split the duties between you and Jaklinne, if you'd come – as she has children too. Partly to give you a place to gather yourself after this monstrous thing. Later? Well, you could choose to stay or go as you chose. We can always use willing workers in many fields, and there are crafts to train at, but I'm afraid" she added dryly "You'd not make much at your current profession in the Weyr, because no-one expects to pay for what they can get free."

"Would I be outcast there for having once been a loving wench?"

"No, of course not."

"Of course not. Just like that" she grimaced.

Elexa asked,

"Did you wish to train for another occupation?"

Lillis stared.

"Of course! Yes, there are girls who enjoy it, I know a few – and the men who enjoy the marks from it that control some girls as supposed protectors. But not many girls become loving wenches because they want to, fine lady."

"I am aware of that" said Elexa dryly. "I take it that you were left without kin or profession and had little choice if you wished to eat."

Lillis shrugged.

"That, and that I had been already spoiled by the uncle who took me in when my parents died. I figured I might as well take marks for doing what I had to do anyway"

Y'lara put a hand on her shoulder.

"Well, my girl, in the Weyr you can try out crafts and other jobs; you're not too old for an apprenticeship. And even if you end up drudging, I'm told cleaning up after weyrfolk is less arduous than in a Hold" she looked at the girl narrowly. "You could even enter as a candidate if you wished, though I don't feel the tug I usually do…."

Lillis pulled a face.

"Weyrwoman, if it's the same to you, I couldn't do your job; and that's what being a candidate's all about. It scares me too much, and I'll not accept under false pretences."

Y'lara smiled thinly.

"Well, there's a courage in admitting a fear" she said "And an honour and integrity in refusing the false pretences. And we honour that sort of thing in the Weyr. Let's get you and Jaklinne back to feed baby Veralinne. Then we can go look for this Joris" a martial light shone in her eyes.

"Whose baby is it that needs feeding? Is the mother dry, or ill?" asked Lillis.

Elexa looked at her with approval.

"You know, with all your troubles, you're the only one to ask that." She said. "The child had been left exposed; the Weyr took her in. As we plan to take others."

Y'lara had learned enough tact to hide her surprise and pleasure at Elexa referring to the Weyr as 'we'. She'll do, thought the seabred girl.

Lillis was nodding.

"Some say Weyrfolk are crazy" she said "But if the Weyr had been there the way it is now when I became an orphan maybe I'd have had the courage to face Thread. I-I'd like to be a part of such craziness."

"Good girl" said Y'lara approvingly.

Jaklinne was sent to fetch her daughters: she left a letter for her husband informing him of her decision to leave. Y'lara and Elexa may not have approved of leaving him in so cowardly a fashion; but as Elexa said,

"He might try to prevent her if she told him face to face, and force her to stay by threatening her girls with physical violence; and it would not be good for them to witness a scene anyway."

Y'lara concurred.

It was Elexa, however, who took the responsibility of going to see Lord Bargen to explain, though not without some trepidation; lest Jaklinne's husband complained.

"It would be better, I think, My Lord" she said, with a seeming serenity she did not feel "If you declared their espousal nullified so he can seek another wife."

Bargen glared at her, and she tried to look down her nose.

"Fardles take it, if that little red head doesn't infect all of you with her managing nature!" the Lord Holder grumbled. "Well, it's the woman's right, no question, and children belong to their mother, girl children with no possibility of dispute, for I'd have to consider a man's plaint that a son be returned to him even though the law states that he belongs to his mother, and take the lad's wishes into account" he added gloomily. "I should thank you for informing me."

"My pleasure" said Elexa, demurely.

Lord Holder Bargen grunted.

Jaklinne's four daughters were wide eyed with fear and excitement over the thought of a ride on a dragon; as they were taking two women and sundry children back, Y'lara had asked Tanath to bespeak Vorth, and the Blue dragon with a smiling M'kel was waiting beside the little Green dragon.

The oldest child, Shuli, was full of questions, and Jaklinne would have quieted her sharply had not Y'lara smiled encouragingly and answered her about her dragon's name, that Greens were girls and so often chose girls to ride them and that yes, Golden Queens were much bigger, about twice as long. Y'lara judged her to be about eight turns old, around the age of her weyrmate M'kel's oldest child, Mikas. Alys too, a couple of turns younger than her sister Shuli, seemed interested though she did not initiate as many questions as the older girl. Of the two younger, Nenisa was too overawed even though of a questioning age; and the toddler Nolla, Y'lara suspected, had been over long in being born, for she had something of that blank look that often indicated a simpleton. Much like M'kel's younger daughter, the Green Rider thought. Though Amika had something akin to thoughts; she just seemed to live in her own little world. Y'lara smiled rather automatically at the littlest girl; such things always made her uncomfortable, though she always strove not to show it. At least Nolla could probably be trained to do simple tasks, especially in the care of a loving mother, like Camo of the Harper hall. And the dragons liked Camo for his simple joy in their beauty. Y'lara swallowed distaste in shame. To do otherwise was to let the dragons down – and her own dear Tanath!

While the weyrwomen settled in the newcomers, M'kel told Lillis' story to his friends H'llon, D're, Z'kan and M'gol , and at M'gol's suggestion they dropped by to see Tragen. Arrangements were being made in haste for the Runnerholder's impending wedding to D're's sister Kaili, but Tragen always had time for his dragonrider friends. They had come in force as much to bear congratulations as to pick his brains; and he was pleased to see them and do what he could to help.

"Joris. Yes." He said grimly. "I'd not sell to or buy from him."

"Yes you would, you big softie" retorted his bride to be. "Sure, and if there was any beast you could rescue from him you'd be making the fellow an offer so you would!"

Tragen laughed.

"Perhaps" he admitted. "He's – uncertain tempered is the only way I can describe the man. Never speaks loudly, but I've seen him knock down a groom in his train of packbeasts just for forgetting something, and then kick the poor fellow repeatedly as he lay on the ground. If people hadn't pulled Joris off, I swear he was going to kill the groom. And his only comment when asked why he was acting so was 'I didn't have my knife to hand'. I don't think he's quite sane."

The dragonriders nodded. It confirmed the personal thoughts of each of them, though they'd not had much opportunity yet to discuss the matter fully.

"Where is that son of –That Place – likely to be?" asked D're, modifying his language in deference to the fears of the firelizards owned by several of those present, Tragen and Kaili included.

"Try Highspire if you're looking for him" suggested Tragen. "There's semi permanent runner trading goes on there and other trading too. Trabin puts up with a lot of trash because his family life is so, um, interesting, that he's not got a lit of time to notice anything much else. Though I hear that's changing."

M'gol grinned at his friend.

"You know our ladies" he murmured. "Can't keep from interfering."

Tragen nodded.

"Indeed. And I've bargained myself into being run by one of them too" his voice was mournful; but the look he gave his bride spoke volumes of love and joy!

Back in the Weyr with the rest of the logicator team they discussed the strange violence of the man Joris; Lillis was invited to sit in and listen and comment if she felt like it. Lillis was flattered to be asked to sit in, and was certain she'd never have the courage to speak up in front of so many eminent people!

"Most men bluster and shout before hitting out" said T'lana. "This quiet behaviour and sudden launch into violence is strange."

"It's unnatural" put in H'llon.

"Yes, dear one, it is. There is something wrong, I think, in the way Joris thinks, that he does not issue the usual warning signals that he is angry. Threats and blustering are designed to make potential opponents back down so a fight might be avoided; as stallions bare their teeth at rivals for their mares, and weesweets sing aggressively to claim their patch of flowers and the concomitant nectar."

"Animals can't be compared to people" objected T'rin.

"Yes they can, dear one" said T'lana. "We act just the same; any man bares his teeth if he thinks another is interested in his mare, and the bickering that goes on over the right to Hold amongst eligible sons is well known. They want their patch of flowers too. We've just added some other tools to our threat displays, like threatening to call in overlords or Harpers and we have a verbal component too."

"Point" T'rin nodded.

"Excuse me, T'lana" put in Z'kan "But you are talking of threat display to signal anger. I'm not even sure this fellow Joris IS angry. I think he just reacts with extreme violence as a means of solving a problem. Dead people don't cause problems."

T'lana cocked her gleaming red head on one side enquiringly and lifted an eyebrow.

"You speak from some previous knowledge?"

The Brown Rider nodded.

"In the Old Time there was a man at Fort Hold….he'd killed several people before they caught him because as he was soft spoken, no-one suspected him. But he never tried to hide his crimes, and the last one, he was caught in the act. I was there at the time running errands for T'ron, and being nosy I asked questions. What's the matter?" he asked sharply, seeing T'lana's sudden look of chagrin.

"Sorry, Z'kan" she laughed ruefully. "It's just that I thought I was the first logicator since the Ancients; seems like it was, in fact, you. Go on, don't mind me."

Z'kan grinned.

"No, I never was a logicator; just nosy. I didn't figure out how to apply the nosiness. Your title is secure, weyrwoman" he swept her a floridly half mocking bow, and she curtsied a return. "Anyway" he went on "They questioned this killer and he seemed, well if anything, surprised. He just used killing to get rid of problems. He wasn't remorseful and he didn't even seem to understand that he'd done anything wrong, though he was no simpleton. In fact he was quite intelligent" the Oldtimer shrugged "Strikes me this Joris might be the same."

"Sounds fair. Comments?" asked T'lana.

"I agree" said Y'lara. "The baby's cries upset his sex life" she paused to touch Lillis apologetically on the arm "So he killed it. It was now quiet, so he carried on as if nothing had happened."

"Yes" said H'llon "And the story Tragen told us about the groom, how he kicked him because his knife wasn't to hand. If his knife had been to hand I reckon he'd just have knifed the unfortunate fellow."

T'lana nodded.

"I know it's interfering" she said "And I KNOW it goes against all policy…"

"But he's got to die" said M'gol. And coming from one of the most easy going and peaceable of the logicators it was a telling comment. There was a long silence.

"It goes beyond taking the tale to Lord Bargen to give justice" gentle J'nara backed up her weyrmate. "I hate violence, but this man cannot be dealt with by normal means, nor can normal laws be used to punish him, because he's not going to respond in a normal way. He needs to be placed out of harm's way."

"We'll draw straws" put in M'kel. "Longest takes him; and starts the search at Highspire. The others stay close but don't come in. No point looking like a lynch mob; that really will look like Weyr interference and will bring trouble on T'bor."

"You've an idea how to handle it?" asked Z'kan intently.

M'kel shrugged.

"The germ of one….if it's me, I'll talk to Y'lara, and if it's one of you I'll make the suggestion" and more than that he would not, for the time being, say.

Lillis was overwhelmed that the dragon folk should go to such pains not merely on her behalf but to prevent another such incident ever occurring again, and tried to say so.

"Fardles, dear. You're weyrfolk now" said T'lana "And we take care of our own. And we're also supposed to protect and take care of others too; so that covers that. You concentrate on getting some flesh on your bones and taking time out to grieve your loss properly!"

The assembled male Riders drew straws as to who would deal with Joris if he should prove to be at Highspire; and M'kel won the dubious privilege.

"Only proper as it was My Lady love who collected the problem" he declared smugly.

"I swear something happened to those straws" muttered H'llon, baffled. "The short ones were longer than that by a thumb joint."

M'gol chuckled.

"Trust M'kel to cheat! Still, like he says, his lady started it!"

Nobody mentioned that M'kel had taken the idea to cheat from independent suggestions from both M'gol and Z'kan who had felt that he ought to arrange to exclude H'llon. The young Bronze Rider was inclined to get very indignant over injustice; and it was the unspoken agreement of the logicators that though Joris must be killed there must not be too much of an incident. Moreover, as H'llon did get himself easily upset, it was felt that he put himself and Melth at more risk by not thereby thinking straight. No-one wanted the big, genial woodcrafter-Rider to be hurt!

M'kel obtained an agreement with Y'lara over how to deal with the man; she was unwilling when he outlined his plan, but agreed that it would be the best way, and kissed him firmly to demonstrate her agreement.

At Highspire, M'kel found Joris without difficulty; and picked a time to accost him when Holder Trabin and other respected traders were around.

"Joris?" asked M'kel.

"Who wants to know?" the man asked sullenly; and then took in M'kel's knots. "I'm Joris – sir" he acknowledged.

"I want to tell you a story" said M'kel, in a clear and carrying voice. "A story about a loving wench who fancied a dragonman; and even with the freedoms we enjoy within the Weyr, variety can sometimes still hold spice if the seduction is well enough managed" he paused.

"And what has this story to do with me?" asked Joris.

"I'll come to that presently" M'kel looked around to see that he had the attention of his audience; T'rin had given him a crash course on how to use storytelling tricks to keep an interest, and they were mostly, M'kel felt, common sense. He'd always been known for spinning tall and improbable yarns to amuse his fellows anyhow. He went on, "She was a pretty girl and the dragonman had fun with her. And presently she told him she was expecting his child. We don't have that many children in the Weyr" he managed to sound wistful; no-one would have thought that his fourth child was on its way in his weyrmate's belly. "The Rider asked if she would keep the baby; and promised that when the babe was old enough to fly dragonback with no risk she should bring it to the Weyr. In the meantime she continued to work; he did not feel justified to ask for the tithe funds to keep her" he added mendaciously. "So the baby was born – a boy. He was colicky, and a trip _Between_ was risky. And still she worked; including at the Gather where a man called Joris" he paused dramatically "Picked her up" M'kel's eyes were like flint as he went on to recount Lillis' story: and he was rewarded by gasps and cries of "SHAME" from his audience. The man Joris regarded him sullenly.

"Are you accusing me of killing your brat, dragonman?" he asked softly.

"Yes" lied M'kel smoothly.

"To the Red Star with you" said the man contemptuously.

"No – to the Red Star with you!" snarled M'kel, letting out his pent up anger. "I call duel!"

He jumped back just in time, saved by his dragonman reflexes as the knife slashed out at his belly without warning. Silently he rejoiced inside. Joris had pulled steel first – as the logicators had hoped. Now it was up to M'kel to finish the business.

Joris was good; but relied too much on the fact that previous opponents had been taken by surprise. Once he lost the initiative M'kel knew that he was better, and that the extra wherhide vest he wore under his tunic would be superfluous.

Holder Trabin was wringing his hands rather helplessly; a killing in his Hold might cause scandal! His two ladies comforted him, one from each side. Having been the subjects of the logicators' ministrations to sort their differences out, neither woman believed for one moment that this fight was anything but engineered!

It was over quickly; and M'kel went over to the Holder and gave a slight bow.

"I apologise, Holder Trabin, for this unpleasantness" he said formally. "I could have hoped to have taken this outside, but Joris had other ideas."

Trabin licked dry lips.

"Think, er, nothing of it, um, Blue Rider" he managed "I, um, trust honour is satisfied?"

M'kel surveyed the body of Joris thoughtfully.

"Honour, yes. A bereaved mother, never" he said softly. M'kel had never been accused of being subtle; but he had his moments of insight.

Lillis cried again a little when M'kel told her about it; and Y'lara and Elexa comforted her as best they could. Y'lara left her much to Elexa; for the older woman had also had a baby murdered. And she told the ex loving wench about it; and the younger girl gripped her fingers in reciprocated sympathy. Then she squared er shoulders.

"Well" she said "I suppose this is the first day of the rest of my life. I'd better get on with it."

Strangely perhaps a friendship started between the downtrodden young loving wench and the Ranking Elexa; a bond of shared experience drew them close, though Lillis was shy of calling it such. As Jenara had for T'lana she attached herself to Elexa as unofficial drudge and maid, having more time on her hands than Jaklinne with her four daughters. And so it was that she was drawn more into the circle of the logicators and the candidates than would otherwise have been the case; and was welcomed cheerfully by the logicators as a superbe observer who also had yet another set of experiences to add to their wide ranging knowledge!


	17. Chapter 17

**17 The Hoard**

H'llon was returning from a routine patrol when he spotted a reddish cross shape below – the symbol agreed upon to show a baby or child needing Weyr help. That it was right in front of a cot suggested a crippled child or excess female; and H'llon determined to try to hold his temper in check if he found the callousness told of by so many of the High Reaches waifs.

The cothold was in a pleasant valley, pleasant at least at this time of the turn. It would be snowed up in the winter most likely, though the valley ran east-west, high cliffs protecting the land from the bitter north winds, the cot itself set against the south facing rise against a gentle enough slope not likely to have the major threat of avalanche descending upon it. The fields were small but seemed well tended, and there were domesticated wherries as well as ovines and bovines. Stables were build partly back into the hillside, partly without, with the usual covered and walled run between the cot and the animal quarters. The stone was new looking still, quite bright and unweathered. The cot was a new Hold and as such less likely to be able to support any as were not likely to be fully productive. They had, H'llon reflected, more excuse than most.

A man perhaps thirty turns old came running up as Melth backwinged to land, avoiding overflying the fields of beasts; the fellow was clearly awed by the presence of so illustrious a visitor.

"M-My Lord!" he stuttered "A welcome to you and your n-noble dragon!" he gave Melth a scared sideways glance. "Be you come about the signal?"

"Yes" said H'llon.

"Ah, first egg be praised….can I offer you klah, Lord? Anything stronger?"

"Klah would be good. Thank you" H'llon made the effort not to sound curt.

The man led the way into the small cot; the inside looked as new as the outside, the furniture still smelling faintly of pine. It was as clean as any Healer Hall. A woman tended the stove with three infants about her skirts, aged from around six turns old, H'llon judged, downwards. A fourth child was tied firmly but not tightly to a table leg, surrounded by wooden toys, crudely made but serviceable, good amateur work. The man nodded to the child.

"'Tis our little Grighri here….he cannot walk, though he tries hard enough, egg bless him, to rise like his brother and sisters….if he were a girl 'twould be different, he could still learn to spin and weave sat in a chair, but…." He tailed off.

His distress was evident; and H'llon nodded in understanding, thawing considerably. Especially as the child reached up his arms to the man, laughing, and was rewarded by being bobbed down beside and embraced. The man got up again quickly, looking embarrassed and was surprised that, far from looking annoyed, the big Bronze Rider was smiling warmly at him.

"But" H'llon finished the sentence that had tailed off "A boy needs to be able to tend fields and herd animals and do heavy work" he said. "Aye, and if you prepared him for apprenticeship in the Weavercraft Hall, chances are they might be chary if he cannot get himself about. At least in the Weyr there are always plenty of dragons to pick our cripples up, chair and all, to carry across the Bowl."

"The dragons are kind to do that!" the man was taken aback. "We never knew that dragons themselves cared….yes, we intended to try to ready him for the Weavercraft Hall, to do our best….but with the recent problems…."

"Problems?" H'llon asked sharply.

"I'm sorry, My Lord, but I'd best not trouble you with our petty problems, especially if you're good enough to give a good start to our Grighri."

The woman turned round and broke in,

"Now then, Villim, if what they say about High Reaches be true, the dragonman might be able to help, begging your pardon for being forward, My Lord, but it's what they say."

She was an attractive woman some four or five turns younger than her husband, and capable looking without giving the impression of 'brawny' that so many country women did; her muscles were well developed but she had a stringy strength in a slender frame that looked deceptively frail if you did not recognise the muscle masses. Her pale golden hair tied back in a plait emphasised her apparent fragility; but her chin was as determined as that of any weyrwoman and H'llon made a mental note that her daughters would be well worth the Searching in later turns!

"It's true what they say about the Weyr" said H'llon,breaking off the protest of the man Villim. He squatted down beside the solemn child, who he could now see was tied to keep him from falling sideways. Grighri picked up a wooden block and gave it to the Bronze Rider, utterly fearless of his size.

"Ta" he said solemnly.

"Thank you" H'llon replied gravely. "You are a fine bright boy, aren't you? I'm sure you'll learn a craft without any trouble, and if you don't like weaving, there's woodcrafting and other things."

He was rewarded with a sunny smile.

"Perhaps you might tell me about your troubles, Villim" said the young Bronze Rider, getting up again.

The cotholder bit his lip.

"Well" he said "I hope you won't think it a waste of your time, My Lord, for 'tis lots of little silly things. The bovines run dry. The wherries get out of their field and have to be rounded up…crops have failed: and there was a lot of yellow dirt on the ground near the dead ones as wasn't there before, and it killed other greens when I tested it on 'em. Only good thing as come out of it, I used it to kill a patch of Threadbane."

"What's that?" asked H'llon, sharply interested.

"Oh, 'tis like cattlebane as grows in lower areas, 'cept the trappers and hunters reckon the acid in the spines eats Thread too… it still hurt cattle cruel bad if they get them poison spines in their mouths so I don't care so much if it do kill Thread. I'd rather rely on dragons that don't have no bad side effects."

H'llon nodded, determining to ask Deev at Mile High Hold about the plant to take it and a description of its effects to Master Andemon in case anything could be done to render it harmless to cattle and still harmful to Thread. He knew something of cattlebane, a pretty blue flower surrounded by a delicate tracery of divided and sharply spiked sepals that injected a painful, stinging dose of some vegetable acid from the bulb beneath the flower.

"Ar, you do know that plant, My Lord!" Villim laughed sympathetically, and H'llon realised he was pulling a face and absently rubbing the buttock where he had carelessly sat down upon a cattlebane plant when he was an apprentice1

"Yes indeed!" the Bronze Rider said ruefully. "I can quite appreciate your desire to rid yourself of anything similar. I'm glad the yellow dirt helped! I'll get back to that in a moment; was there anything else that happened?"

Villim nodded.

"One of my beasts broke a leg and drowned in the creek; and she weren't an awkward beast, if you know what I mean, My Lord."

H'llon nodded understanding. He had learned enough from farmbred colleagues to have heard of beasts described as 'plain cussed'.

"Have you any neighbours who covet your land?" he asked. "I saw none close by; but your land seems fertile and you appear to have just got it nicely broken."

Villim nodded eagerly and with pride.

"Ar, six turns Gresille and me been wed: and I built this cot for her. We broke the land together" he gave his wife a fond look where she stood, arms akimbo, listening. "But we have no enemies that I know of. Unless you count my brother in law" he laughed a trifle self consciously.

Gresille sniffed.

"My brother's just Turned sixteen, Bronze Rider, and don't you take that literal like. We lived with my parents waiting for spring to make our espousal and start on the building and he plagued the life out of us in managing to interrupt our courting and shouting 'YUK' loudly if ever he caught us kissing. He's got a girl of his own now, and a fine well grown boy, and we were thinking of taking him on for a turn as a hand, then helping him break the next valley over for his bride when he has one. Villim will have his joke."

"Ar, I weren't serious" put in Villim hastily. "He being the nearest thing I ever had to someone as has done me a less than good turn, and him a sprout at the time. It's almost laughable to think of having enemies, see?"

"Then you are fortunate, and I congratulate you" said H'llon.

"It started after that fellow tried to buy the land" said Gresille suddenly.

"What fellow is this?" asked H'llon, suddenly alert.

"Foreigner he was – never seen him at any of the local Gathers, not at Tragen's or Highspire, no nor yet even at High Reaches, though that's full o' foreigners from as far away as Ruatha" she said. "Nice enough spoke, he were; said we was obviously a growing family" she patted her swelling belly complacently and gave a smug half smile in her husband's direction. "He reckoned we'd be wanting to move to a bigger cothold; and said he'd taken a fancy to the place. Villim told him straight, we can easily expand the cot, and there's land enough here to feed any amount of children ar, and for our sons to farm too."

Villim nodded, corroborating his wife's tale.

"But he never made no threats nor nothin'" he said "He just shrugged and went away."

"I'd be interested to take a close look at this yellow dirt" said H'llon "And to take it to the Minercraft Hall to see what they can tell me about it. And of course I shall need to take this little mite of yours – if he's to be parted from good, loving parents, best done as soon as possible to reduce the heartache to him, even if it's not so much help to you."

Both parents had rather set faces.

"You'll be careful of his back _Between_?" asked the mother anxiously. "Where the spine was open he do feel the cold."

"The spine was open?" H'llon was aghast.

"Ar, skin's mostly formed a roll over it, but when he were first born it were horrible to see. We bathed it with thyme and sage water, same as for any open wound and kept it covered. It seemed to work."

"My deepest respect to the both of you for managing to save his life!" said H'llon, impressed.

"'Tweren't allus easy" said Villim. "Times were I wondered if 'twould be kinder to just wring his neck. But then he'd smile….."

H'llon nodded, pretending not to notice the tears in the cotholder's eyes.

"I'll change my mind and come back for him" said the Bronze Rider "For I'd like to consult with healers about what must be done….and if he can't travel dragonback I'll send out a team with runnerbeasts and a slung litter. And if you'll show me some of this yellow dirt, I'll get onto that too. What manner of man was this fellow who tried to buy the place? I can keep my eyes open for him as well" he added as he went out with Villim.

"Short and dark he was, a bit pasty though; seemed like he'd not know how to work a cothold, for I'd not say he were used to spending time outdoors" Villim told him. "Here be the stuff I took off my land."

The pile of yellow dirt was around an area carefully hoed; the withered but still prickly plant lay in a pile awaiting disposal, carefully swept away from the path in to the byre. H'llon noted that it was a larger plant than the cattlebane he knew, then turned his attention to the yellow stuff, feeling and sniffing it. The pungent smell reminded him where he had seen it before – around hot springs. Carefully he gathered some and tied it into his handkerchief and took his leave of Villim to set off on his various errands!

The logicators held a brief, impromptu meeting to discuss H'llon's findings before the Bronze Rider went on a visit to the Healer Hall. T'rin's minercraft clutchmates were called in to give their own opinions on the yellow dirt. B'lan said,

"It's something that occurs near hot springs and on the tops of smoking mountains….nothing grows near where it is. We gather it for the Smithcrafters – they use it somehow to manufacture Agenothree."

T'lana smote her brow.

"Of course! This is made into vitriol, which can dissolve pretty near anything except gold…..you can use it to make Agenothree and you can also mix it with Agenothree to make etching acid, for it's better for the finest etchings than pure Agenothree. My very first logicator case!" quickly she outlined the story of how the fanatic young smithcrafter had killed and dissolved the girl he adored when he found out that she had other lovers.

"So the culprit is using it to kill crops….it's more annoyance tactics, for there was enough good crops that they'd not starve. It suggests, together with the pasty look, if the man who tried to buy the place is our culprit, that he might be a miner. Could there be any valuable minerals in that valley?" reasoned H'llon.

B'lan shook his head.

"Extremely unlikely" the journeyman Green Rider said. "Any valuable deposits would be in the rocks that edge the valley, or deep beneath it that could be tunnelled into from the edge. There'd be nothing to stop a miner setting up a minecot there; I doubt your cotholder Villim claims what to him would be useless land. Besides, the fellow who approached him would surely then be checking that he had NOT claimed the valley sides, would he not?"

"Hmmph" muttered H'llon "And I can't think of another profession he's be mostly indoors in daytime to get pasty. I'm off to Master Oldive to learn what I can about exposed spines."

H'llon took Ketelin, the young journeyman healer that Master Oldive had seconded to the logicators; for Ketelin was as eager as H'llon to learn about the boy Grighri's condition, the better to care for him. He helped H'llon in asking very precise questions.

Fortunately Oldive had seen the problem before.

"The boy's parents have done very well to rear the child" he commented. "Chances are that he'll always be paralysed – from below where it came to the surface. You'll need to protect him dragonback, but if you can keep him warm it'll cause him less pain than jerking along on runnerbeast, however good a litter you have, especially if your dragon is aware to be as smooth as possible in takeoff."

H'llon nodded.

"Melth's very clever" he said proudly "And strong enough to be smooth even with a big load. If I build something like Sh'rilla's heated chair, with a stone waterbottle in it, will that do?" he suggested.

The Masterhealer concurred.

"It should do. Bronze Rider, I warn you now that he may not have much manual dexterity either – the whole spine may be affected one way or another. Not like your apprentice, Radall, who is, after all, only missing his legs. Spines are not fully understood" he said with dry irony; as well he might with the hump on his own back.

H'llon grimaced in sympathy for Grighri.

"Still, I'm sure we'll find something he can learn to feel useful" he said firmly. "He might even turn out to have a trainable voice and be a Harper; who knows."

Oldive nodded.

"Aye, I believe you. You High Reaches folk are good at finding the best in everyone."

H'llon decided to return to Villim's and Gresille's cot to tell them that he would be back to collect little Grighri when he had devised a cradle-cum-chair for the child. He thought he would overfly the valley first and look for any signs of unauthorised access, for signs of movement through vegetation or indeed on soil would be readily visible from the air.

It was not long before the young dragonrider spotted a trail where someone was accustomed to disturb the vegetation; and as Melth wheeled to give him the best view he could also see where dried leaves and sticks extended a cave or scrape against the cliff wall, probably erected to extend living room between Threadfalls.

The tendril of smoke he saw from the corner of his eye caught his attention; and he urged Melth to turn.

By the time they had swooped down, the tendril of smoke had flames at the base of the storage barn; and even as he watched, waiting for Melth to land, H'llon saw a figure stumble from the barn with a bundle. The figure set the bundle down, and pointed; and the bundle resolved itself into a smaller figure, running towards the cot.

_"__**Melth, set me down then grab him"**_ H'llon directed, proceeding to slither off as quickly as possible to tackle the fire.

With H'llon's strength, the couple – who had quickly come running – soon had the fire under control.

H'llon turned to Melth who had a scared, but philosophically resigned looking figure in one vast claw. The figure was sootstreaked and one arm was burned.

"Honest, Holder, I wouldn't of set the fire if I'd of known the nipper was in there!" he cried, addressing Villim.

Villim pushed back his hair from his sweaty, sooty brow.

"Ar, she telled you come in after her to pull her out. And you be burned for it. I guess you didn't have to do that" he acknowledged with simple dignity. "What I want to know is why you been playing these blamed tricks on me – ar, and why you killed my ovine."

"Ar, well, that were an accident. I ris up from the ditch and frightened her, not intentional-like, 'cos I didn't know she wus there. Well, she startled me as much as I startled her, and I yelled and she took off one way, and me t'other. When I come back, 'twas too late" he shrugged "I bain't a violent man. Eff her'd been a live'un I'd of drug her out and done what I could."

"What is it that you are trying to do?" demanded H'llon.

The man shrugged.

"Well it's this road" he said "And I guess I might as well tell it like it is. I'm Holdless; born that way. That means you get called thief all your life, so you might as well reap the benefits and be one, see?" it was an explanation, not a request for sympathy. H'llon nodded. The Holdless man went on, "I made a really good haul – a load of jewellery belonging to one of Meron's fancy pieces, signed on with the crew transporting her goods and filched it when they were digging the front runners out of a snow drift. Trouble was, I was spotted hiding it and had to leg it; and beings as it was heavy and his men behind me, and likely enough dogs sent for too, I buried it as soon as I had enough of a start" he looked at Villim "And you had to build your fardling cot RIGHT ON TOP! If it had been just a little to the side I could've dug it up one night and you'd never have known!" he sighed.

"You idiot!" snapped Gresille "If you'd only explained that right from the word go, and offered us a tithing, we'd have helped you dig it up!"

"Well…" said Villim, uncertainly.

"The girls will need dowries" she said firmly.

Villim shot a sideways look at H'llon. The Bronze Rider was looking thoughtful. Gresille caught the look.

"Here!" she said to the thief "I'm thinking that to keep you out of trouble, you should offer some of it to the High Reaches Weyr fund that cares for orphans and cripples; and a bit more than a tithing to us for the trouble you've caused."

"Fund for orphans and cripples?" the man seemed puzzled. "I'm a little out of touch – I've been working in a minehold due to a misunderstanding over the ownership of some gems. Six turns for one miserable handful!" he added venomously. "Last I heard, High Reaches fathered half the unwanted brats around here."

"New leadership" murmured H'llon tactfully. "And we've taken in a few of those unwanted children….we have an oath we swear as dragonriders to serve and protect. It kind of follows on."

Gresille filled in for H'llon far more than the modest young man would do, singing the praises of the High Reaches logicators and their ideas to care for unloved or unwanted children, or those beyond the care of their parents. He heard her tale about little Grighri and nodded.

"You're good people" he said "And I feel plum ashamed of troubling you now. I seen a man dash his newborn's brains out on a wall for being a defective like that. I guess if the Weyr done help, I better do like you say. Can I have a mug of water?"

"Ar, and numbweed for your arm!" Gresille bustled off.

The thief looked at H'llon.

"And what's High Reaches do about younkers that bean't part of the system – them ones what's born to them made Holdless for crimes?"

H'llon's face hardened.

"We think that the system that criminalises children for no fault of their own is wrong; and we'd be glad to take them and teach them a trade. Why don't you join us? You know the Holdless culture. Perhaps you could help us."

The man considered.

"Ar, I could help at that. I'm too old now to be on the run all the time. A place in the weyr would suit me fine. Bronze Rider, if I had a comfortable living in return for fossicking out needy kiddies for you, I'd not need but a few of these geegaws for a spot o' luxury from time to time; after you set a fair price for me to give these people, I'd turn almost all the rest over to you for that."

H'llon appreciated the thought. He did not mention that he could just have confiscated it, and that T'kul's people would doubtless have kicked Villim and Gresille out and dug it up to keep for themselves if the stories he had heard were correct. He nodded.

"That's a deal then" said the Bronze Rider. "In the Weyr we all start fresh." He held out his hand, grinned ruefully, and extended the other. "Sorry! I'll be careful not to touch that burn!" he said.

Gresille came and tended to the man's wound; and he gave his name as Voll. It was agreed that he would stay in the cot until the burn was healed, helping the couple to dig up his ill-gotten gains, and that H'llon would collect him and the child together.

"After all" H'llon told Pilgra when he reported the affair "Sorting out ownership after so long would be a struggle – and it's not as if Meron hadn't probably plundered it anyway. We're just giving it back through the children."

"Quite so" said Pilgra "But let's not tell T'bor about it – he has to worry too much about protocol and what he doesn't know he can't worry about."

"Is that quite honest?" worried H'llon.

"It's honest in principle" said Pilgra firmly.

H'llon nodded.

It was ingrained for Bronze Riders to obey their Senior Queenriders; and H'llon could think of no real reason to protest that he cared to think about!


	18. Chapter 18

**18 The Wooden Goods Game**

Voll settled rapidly into High Reaches, a little baffled and amused to be the centre of attention for the logicators; they demanded that he relate his adventures and demonstrate his skills! It was with T'rin and T'arla's help – the former having stolen to feed his crippled sister before coming to the Weyr and the latter belonging to a family of opportunists if not actually truly dishonest – that he displayed the three-hand trick of picking pockets, with one to distract, one to pick pockets and one to have the goods handed off to lest the pickpocket be seen, and searched. He was quickly befriended by Imbellinne, delighted that he had served an ill turn to her father and his favourite of the time. Meron's ladies had tended to behave unkindly towards his plain daughters as a way of keeping his favour.

Few people cast up Voll's past to warn him not to steal from his new friends; it was generally accepted that H'llon would not have picked him if he was likely so to do! As Voll said, being trusted laid an onus of trustworthiness upon him; and no-one mentioned that such was the general idea.

What really staggered Voll was that M'kel promptly taught him to cheat at dice; and D're taught him to cheat at cards, all to help him go back to Holdless gatherings with more skills. And the cream was when they presented him with a pair of firelizard eggs!

"B-but this is a great gift!" he stammered.

R'cal, holding them out to him, grinned.

"You'll need them to send back messages, lad; and in case you get into trouble. H'llon'll help you train 'em. You can always tell folk you had them off one of Meron's traders. I got D're to pick you greens for that purpose, 'tis a practical reason, no insult intended."

"Insult? Such a great gift? I – I'm overwhelmed!"

"Being a logicator is hard work" said R'cal, scratching the polls each in turn of his own three firelizards "But it does have compensations."

T'lana decided that H'llon could go out with Voll as a preliminary reconnaissance; and spoke to the young Bronze Rider firmly concerning holding his temper should they run into Holderfolk. H'llon listened meekly.

"I think I've learned some discretion now, T'lana" he told her. "I've learned a lot as a logicator. And" he added with a soppy grin "As I'm going to be a father I need to take even more care of myself!"

Zaira had just confided in her lover that she was expecting a happy event – despite the herbs – and had calculated that it worked in very well around any young dragon's development if she should happen to Impress at the next hatching due.

T'lana grinned. She looked on Zaira as a little sister; and as Zaira's father weyred with T'lana's cousin Z'linda the young couple were more or less family.

"I hear your beloved has similar traits to me and has been nest building" she said, with a wicked twinkle.

H'llon groaned.

"Tell me! She's been tidying my weyr every which way to the Interval! She's even been at my workshop!"

T'lana blinked.

"Your workshop is pristine!"

"Apparently not enough, or not in the right way" H'llon pulled a mournful face and grinned ruefully as T'lana chuckled.

"Then you'll not mind being gone a day or two until she settles down!" she said.

Vol had explained that word went around the Holdless where good places were to lie up during Threadfall; there were Thread Shelters that could accommodate any travellers, of course, but not in large numbers. Some Holders provided caverns for the use of itinerants, usually separated from the main Hold caverns because of the fear most holderfolk felt of such people. Many Holders did not provide any shelter and indeed were inclined to chase any Holdless not known to them off their lands. Even the Mulgan family, well known traders, were not accepted everywhere for being traders through heredity not apprenticed to the Tradercraft. The Holdless were as dependant on Holds as any, particularly during a Pass, though, whether to trade, seek temporary work or steal. The trick, Voll explained, was to attend larger Gathers and then get a shelter before Fall; and to move on a large enough circuit so that three or four turns elapsed between visiting any one place again and hence avoiding as much chance of being recognised.

"Of course traders need to be recognised and so do a tighter circle" he explained "But often they also have runnerbeasts and can travel faster, and that mean farther, than on foot."

Melth set H'llon and Voll down close to the cave they were making for – the closest to the Weyr, within a day's journey even for youngsters, not far from where the trail from Pars to the Weyr forked north to Highspire. A collection of cots surrounded the actual fork, but just to the north in the steep sided canyons was a secure cave that had become a province of the Holdless. T'lana had hopes of making this place an unofficial recruiting ground and place to make for.

The big Bronze dragon was disappointed not to be taking part in fighting Thread that was about to take place, and was not entirely convinced by H'llon's explanation that it was good for other Bronzes or Browns to practice as wingleader from time to time in case either of them got injured.

"_But we are very good. You have only ever been Threadscored once when I was young and inexperienced"_ protested Melth.

"_**But sometimes accidents happen that we have no control over. It is good to find out if others can manage, even if they are not as good as you"**_ H'llon flattered the big Bronze. Melth snorted in a tone that declared that obviously nobody was as good as him! As H'llon agreed, he could find no issue with Melth's attitude, and commiserated with his partner for missing Fall! The consolation for Melth was that H'llon had adjured him to be sure and keep an eye on his fair of firelizards and make sure they behave; his pets he had asked to look after Melth to avoid being surrounded by a large fair of four that would not sit well with his pose as a Holdless man! Voll's eggs were not yet ready to hatch; so he had no such worries himself, and they both looked suitably disreputable as they trudged in to the cave.

They were the last to arrive, making the gathering in the stuffy cave a round dozen. H'llon picked out two teenaged lads, a little girl about the same age as his sister Kisra, two young women and a selection of men ranging in age from around his own to late middle age. The most noticeable was an obvious Marksman, wearing Journeyman Trader knots, prosperous and full of bonhomie. It was all H'llon had time to observe before the younger of the two women spoke.

"Are you sharing?" she asked. Her voice was melodious and cultured. She was a striking looking woman with her light brown skin and large, well-shaped brown eyes, her dark red hair glossy and well cared for. H'llon, used to recognising patterns, felt she bore a resemblance to his fosterlings Imbellinne and Ipominea; but where they were plain this girl was very pretty. She gave him an appraising look of the kind he had learned to recognise, and he flushed.

Voll answered the question she had posed, well aware of the customs.

"Our share in the feast fell off the back of a vintner" he grinned, taking a small tun from his backpack. "But the youths better take it watered. It's a strong vintage if I have it correct."

The woman nodded and added it to the crude table where a pot had already been taken from the fire, bubbling with melted cheese and vegetable and keeping warm on a trivet on the hearth. She and the small girl seemed to have been attending to small avians on spits over the central fire. Voll grinned.

"Good smells" he said.

"We do our best" she swept a mocking curtsey; it was no untutored bob.

One of the youths glanced up; and Voll exchanged a surprised wave of recognition with him. He was a pretty looking, slender boy with blonde hair, worn long and carefully tended and he grinned in genuine pleasure to see Voll.

A young man about H'llon's own age or a little older moved out of the shadows to peer at the Bronze Rider.

"Hallon? Goody-goody Hallon?" he sneered. "Well well! How are the mighty fallen – mighty pain in the arse, anyway!"

H'llon viewed the gaudily grimy young man with disfavour.

"Shifrey" his voice was full of scorn. "So this is what happened to you after you got thrown out of the Woodcrafter Hall for laziness. You haven't learned to wash in the intervening turns either, have you?"

Shifrey sneered, showing teeth already starting to blacken.

"Being Master's pet doesn't seem to have done you much good, does it?" he said.

"He looks like a dragonman!" said the little girl suddenly.

H'llon, distracted and perturbed stared at her.

"Whatever makes you say a thing like that?" he demanded.

She shrugged.

"You look well fed. And you've the manner. And there's old Threadscore on your neck."

H'llon laughed, touching the scar that was so like the one by which the logicators had identified Z'kan.

"Aye, well, what you may not realise, missy, is that woodcrafters walk sweep with their ground crews during Fall, not after, to protect the trees better" he explained.

Shifrey sniffed.

"Yeah, keen boy our Hallon" he said sarcastically.

H'llon rounded on him.

"You are asking for it. You little tyke!"

The woman's voice rang out, low pitched but commanding.

"There will be NO fighting here!"

"Who says so?" sneered Shifrey, already reaching for a wicked-looking knife.

The woman flicked back wide sleeves.

"My crossbow says so" she said calmly, revealing a small, but wicked looking weapon strapped to her forearm.

Shifrey muttered; but put up the knife.

"Poor Hallon's a bit of a fish out of water still" explained Voll, extemporising rapidly. "Here he is, an honest man amongst us lot, on the run because he was wrongly accused of stealing his Holder's wife's necklace" he sighed elaborately. "Pity he didn't take it; by all accounts it was a pretty geegaw. Way I understand it, it wasn't so much his taking a necklace but his failure to take advantage. Turned down his lady's seductive charms and she wanted revenge. Ah, the duplicity of the rich!" he sighed again gustily.

"Aye, he always was dim about wenches" put in Shifrey, viciously "I bet he never even realised she was propositioning him; he never seemed to understand what to do with it. Reckon the nearest he'd get to a dragonrider is being used by some Green Rider for he certainly don't know how to service females!" he said, laughing at his own sally.

H'llon ignored Shifrey.

"I need a bit of strong arm now I'm getting older" said Voll dreamily "So I count it a good partnership – Hallon an' me we take care of each other. And Shifrey, my boy, I DO have a certain reputation and I could make it pretty tough for you if you impugn my partner."

"Yeah? And who are you? F'lar of Benden? I'VE never seen you before!"

The pretty-looking boy spoke up.

"This is Voll, the greatest jewel thief in the whole of the High Reaches! When I was orphaned he taught me how to prig a purse. It was real bad luck those miners caught him, not his fault at all!"

Voll winked.

"Yes, Jemus, but they were too stupid to stop me hiding up the best stones to bring away with me. I got well paid for my six turns."

"Is it that long?" gasped the boy "Yes, I suppose it is; for I'm Turned sixteen" he answered himself.

Voll grinned.

"Happen I'd have asked if you'd be my apprentice before if I'd been free" he said. "Happen I might still want one to pass on all my tricks to."

H'llon marvelled at Voll's quick wit and ready tongue – not least by the glib story that covered his own supposed disgrace!

Jemus said,

"This here is Petrilla – she's a great fence, Voll. Old Grissom finally drank hisself to death but she's even better. And easier on the eye" he added boldly eying Petrilla.

The red head ignored his additional aside and inclined her head regally in acknowledgement of the praise of her professional skill.

The marksman broke in.

"If you here have marks to invest and want to watch them grow quickly, good Voll, I've a proposition for you."

"I think we should eat before business" said Petrilla mildly. "The food is just about ready."

The marksman snorted.

"Since when do men take orders from a wench?" he said scornfully.

Petrilla's eyes flashed and she made a brief move towards her crossbow.

"Excellent idea, Petrilla, I'm famished!" said H'llon, coming to the table and seating himself on the rough form there. "Personally I always take orders from whoever's in charge of the food; I'd hate to be fed watery soup and charred meat as can happen to those who make themselves unpopular" he shot a sly look at Shifrey, who flushed! H'llon's cousin Lusya had been helping out by carrying food to the apprentice tables and serving it out since she was ten turns old, and had well known how to answer a slight the apprentice Shifrey had made by seeing that he had ill cooked food. H'llon had always suspected her of spoiling food on purpose but had never quite liked to ask her!

The others took their tone from the natural leadership of H'llon; and followed him to the table. The other, quieter, lad dragged himself with the aid of a crutch, for one leg was missing from the knee. H'llon caught himself measuring by eye a wooden leg for the lad, and firmly gave his attention over to the viands on offer!

The oldest man in the group reached hungrily for Voll's tun, that had really come from Keerana's stores; and Petrilla whacked his knuckles lightly with her serving spoon.

"Turn and turn about, Coelon you sot!" she snapped. He gazed with a glazed and wistful expression at the liquor; but obeyed Petrilla, his hands shaking eagerly when it came to his turn to take a serving.

H'llon enjoyed the meal. Petrilla and the girl child, whose name was Otellie, had done a good job. It would not have disgraced Keerana in the primitive circumstances! Covertly the Bronze Rider observed the others who had been brought to his attention. The crippled boy had well developed work calluses; H'llon guessed he had been injured in a work accident of some kind doing hard manual work, for his muscles were well developed despite his youth. The oldest man Coelon had the veined face, especially the nose, of a heavy drinker; no prizes for guessing that he had never managed to hold down a regular duty for his drunkenness! The marksman's companion seemed to keep himself to himself, but H'llon's logicator trained senses smelled the resin scent of cut pine on him; and there was a chisel scar on his left hand. Another woodcrafter? But not one the journeyman knew, nor did Shifrey seem to. He was some turns older than either; so perhaps he had left before either entered an apprenticeship. Or indeed had trained elsewhere. He was old enough to have learned woodcrafting before the Pass began almost anywhere.

Of the final two there was the other young woman; by her garb a loving wench, for it was deliberately provocative as even naïve H'llon could see. Her pale skin, lank blondish hair and watery blue eyes were NOT provocative. Nor was her perpetual sniff. She looked miserable and H'lon was sorry for her but could see why she might lack customers! The final man, older than H'llon by a decade or so, looked out of place. He was slender and fine featured without being quite able to be described as pretty; his eyes were dark and held a haunted look in an otherwise open and honest looking face. He turned his gaze down when he saw H'llon looking at him, flushing faintly. H'llon thought that there was a story there to be told; but them, everyone had a story to be told, even the young thief Jemus, boasting over the meal of his exploits, bringing a frown to Voll's face over his cheerful disregard for the feelings of anyone he encountered.

"You got hard, Jemus" the older man said.

The boy shrugged.

"Hard as diamond. Yeah, you gotta be when you're on your own."

Voll's mouth hardened.

"I would have come back for you. I didn't think I'd be doing you any favours taking you on the run."

The boy shrugged again.

"Whatever. I learned the rest by myself. I learned good. Hard as diamonds, me."

"Diamonds are brittle" said Voll quietly.

Jemus laughed.

"Yeah, but Voll, you might be the best but you're also the sort of sentimentalist who'd give back a girl's ring because her grandmother left it to her and you heard that she'd cried over it."

Petrilla gave an involuntary start. Voll did not notice; he was staring glumly at Jemus.

"Aye, lad I am. And you may call it sentimental, but I call it nothing but common humanity. It's a shame. I guess you've learned too much about the wrong things for me to take you as an apprentice after all. For you already reckon, deep down, that you're the master."

"Perhaps" said Jemus. "You're still the best – unless your turns in captivity have lost you the edge. But if you prigged some pretties when you left I guess that's not so. But you'll lose it some day; and I'm young."

"Aye" said Voll, grimly. "I gave you a leg up; the first rung of the ladder. Somehow I don't see you boosting me up the last few of my old age."

"What for? Life is for the young. The old should just go away and die. Especially those like him" he nodded scornfully at the ageing drunkard who contrived to get more of Voll's tun than his share whilst others talked. "But if you've anything still to teach me, I'll come along and help you out" he added cockily.

"No, m'lad; I think not" said Voll, sadly. "For Hallon and me have plans; and if you knew too much, why you might decide to open your over clever mouth for a reward. I'd not want to be in a situation where I had to decide to silence you."

"You? Never!" scoffed the boy.

"Sometimes" said Voll softly "The big picture of what one is doing is greater than one life."

The tension was interrupted by young Otellie asking,

"What are you and Hallon doing then?"

Voll laughed.

"Oh, if I told you, little one, then I'd have to kill you" he said lightly.

"I only asked" she said, her lip trembling slightly "Because if you're travelling you might find my parents….when Lord Bargen's steward ran us out of the caves at Hold Gar we got separated" her voice caught on a sob "And I've lost them!"

"We'll certainly keep our ears to the ground" promised Voll. "And where will we find your ladyship at home?"

She scowled and made a face at him; and Voll winked and pulled a worse one back. Her mouth twitched and she said,

"I'm staying with Petrilla for now. We'll do Highspire, then High Reaches and stay in the caves near the Port to overwinter."

Voll nodded.

"It's a good wintering cavern. And plenty of pools at low tide for spiderclaws and sometimes fish if the winds have been strong enough."

The marksman, Carney, was keeping an eye out of the distant entrance of the cavern. He interrupted,

"Threadfall be nearly over I reckon. How about a little business?"

"What sort of business, neighbour?" growled H'llon. Every instinct mistrusted the man and his air of bonhomie, as he mistrusted the woodcrafter who rode with him. Carney smiled expansively.

"You see me – well off" he began. "It wasn't always so. But a turn or two back I met a petty thief who had stolen something he thought was useless – because he dared not make use of it! But it is a treasure" he opened his pack and took out one of a number of canvas bags; and emptied it onto the table.

Five mark pieces of the Harper Hall spilled across the rough surface. The assembled company gasped. Carney went on,

"He had the die for these. And yet he was dying of hunger and disease. I did what I could for him" he wiped away an unctuous tear from the corner of his eye "And I found a woodcrafter prepared to sell me blanks. He charged me one mark each for his trouble; and now I'm well set up myself, I want to pass on the luck I had to the community from which my dead friend came. I'm happy to sell five mark pieces at a mark apiece, same as they cost me."

The looks around the table varied from the curious to the covetous. Jemus looked frankly avaricious.

"If I were to spend my few left over marks, I want to be sure what I'm buying. Open another of those bags, good journeyman" said H'llon.

The marksman gave him an evil look and – H'llon thought – he chose another bag with much care. He opened it.

"Here – ten five mark pieces. For ten marks they're yours."

H'llon studied them.

"They look genuine enough" he said.

"See? The woodcrafter says they're genuine enough!" beamed the marksman.

H'llon counted out ten marks in small change.

"I'll bag them up for you" smiled the marksman, reaching for the marks spread over the table. His hand was stopped in H'llon's huge fist.

"No trouble, neighbour, I'll bag them myself"

"But…."

"But what, neighbour? Voll, do you check those other bags" still gently but immovably held the marksman. He also pocketed the five mark pieces. They would add to the orphans' fund.

Voll opened all the other bags the quick way, with his knife.

Blank marks rolled all over the table.

There was another collective gasp, this time of horror. The look of baffled fury on Jemus' face was a study.

"Inventive" murmured Voll. "Petrilla, you hold the chair here. Your verdict?"

The woman looked coldly at Carney.

"If you play this trick on Holderfolk, then good luck to you – for they'll not take the bait if they're not willing to cheat the Harper Hall and are thus proven dishonest. But to try it on with those who have no choice but to be outside the law….we have to have some trust for each other. And we have to put a lot of trust in traders who have the entry to both societies. To be given a poor price, that's understood. But you just used up your welcome in the society of the Holdless, you tunnel snake. I'll make sure word goes around about you, that you get no shelter in any of our places. You can stick with the Holderfolk from now on."

Carney snarled.

"Think they'll take any notice of you, wench?"

She smiled sweetly.

"There's enough who need my services who will" she said. "Besides, I'm hiring a bodyguard to supplement my crossbow. And I'm offering the first position to Hallon here. He looks a useful boy in a scrap. And he's clever too, to suss out what you were up to."

Carney glowered; and beckoned his man.

They left.

Petrilla said,

"I wasn't joking for his benefit, Hallon. If you'll take the job."

H'llon shook his head.

"Voll and I have things to do" he said.

"We'll maybe look you up later though – if the job still holds" put in Voll hastily.

"I'd hold the job to get Hallon. Am I supposed to employ you too? You're a little short for an effective bodyguard."

"I can fight a little if I have to; I just prefer not to. But you might want to employ me as an assayer" said Voll "Because I know uncut stones as well as the values of set ones. And I know how to cut them too, and change the cut of distinctive stones."

She looked at him with new respect, and considered his suggestion.

"Very well. Look me up when you've finished this business of yours, if you're not hot. Ottellie has told you our itinerary" she glanced over at the crippled boy. "You can travel with us too if you wish" she added.

He shook his head.

"Thank you, Lady, but I'm bound for the Weyr – they do say that they take in cripples there if they're willing to work for their bread."

"So they say" she said. "It's a long climb on only one leg…think you can do it before next Fall? It's in a different Zone."

The boy nodded eagerly.

"I reckon it'll take me five days…..and next Fall in that zone will pass the edge of the region in nine."

"How do you figure that?" asked Petrila. He looked surprised.

"Why, it's easy enough to calculate….Thread falls in patterns, see, and…." He became technical enough for Petrilla to look glazed and H'llon to look amazed.

"You read this mathematics the Weyr's supposed to have found?" asked the Bronze Rider.

"Some" said the boy. "The buildercraft hall has a copy, but I'm only an apprentice – was that is, before the rafter fell – and I've not seen many craft secrets. Mostly I worked it out once I had a basis."

"Impressive lad" approved H'llon. "I guess they'll be glad of someone clever at the Weyr. What's your name?"

"Dand, sir. I – I hope so. And I can always cut stone – you can do that sitting."

H'llon nodded, a little absently; he was asking Melth to bespeak Mirrith to have Dand picked up as soon as possible to save his leg.

H'llon was wondering how to get the shy, slender man to himself to ask questions of when the man approached him, stammering a little for nervousness.

"I – my name is Shayam…I – I hope you d-don't think it an intrusion, bu-but may I travel with you? All these criminals make me nervous."

H'llon grinned.

"And I don't?"

"Sir, your friend said you were wrongfully accused. And he seems a pleasant man too…"

"For a thief?" asked Voll, ironically. "If you're honest, you'll learn how not to be, or starve unless you've a craft once you've been labelled Holdless and kinless. The ones with kin who just travel, folk'll employ them, though they watch 'em. Loners? Very little chance."

Shayam swallowed and his Adam's apple bobbed.

"S-so I'm finding. And all because I was afraid!" he added bitterly.

"Afraid?" H'llon prompted.

"I'm – I was – a scrivener in High reaches Port Hold" Shayam explained. "There was smuggling and selling of the Lord Holder's goods. I was afraid. There was a big investigation after one of Holder Tragen's men blew the whistle; and I was blamed for not reporting it. I was scared they'd kill me if I reported it" he added.

H'llon nodded. 'One of Holder Tragen's men' had been Bronze Rider M'gol out of the Weyr to get an education.

"Didn't you appeal to Lord Bargen?" he asked. "It's said he's a fair man."

The man snorted.

"Sure! Someone as lowly as me could really get to see the Lord Holder – especially after one of his justices declared me Holdless. Like you could get true justiceover your Holder's wife's accusations!"

H'llon managed to do his simmering quietly. He still had trouble adjusting to the idea that most people could not just appeal to the top for aid, having been brought up with Masterwoodcrafter Benelek always available; and living now with T'bor's rule that the upper echelon should know everyone under their care. And it was not entirely numbers; High Reaches Hold had a population that numbered in the thousands, but the Weyr was no small entity. Though the fighting dragons numbered perhaps three hundred only, each dragonrider needed approximately five support staff to keep that dragon and its rider flying, cooks, drudges, healers, various craftsmen, and assorted specialists that H'llon could not bring immediately to mind. The population at High Reaches Weyr was not far short of two thousand by the time they and the weyrlings and other children had been taken into account.

"You want to do scrivener work again?" he asked.

"Of course. But – but I don't want to be involved in anything dishonest."

H'llon grinned. He quickly ascertained that the others had all dispersed; and summoned Melth.

Shayam gave something of a squeak of terror, and all but passed out.

"C'mon, man, up onto Melth and H'llon will take you to the Weyr" said Voll, bracingly, taking the man by the arm encouragingly.

"H'llon? Melth?" Shayam did pass out.

Voll and H'llon bundled him onto Melth's broad back and set off, for Voll had no fears of Melth at all. They caught up with Mirrith who had just collected Dand; and T'lana had evidently explained matters to the boy, for he waved happily to H'llon.

"Two, anyway – and both with useful skills" grunted Voll. "Sorry about Jemus; I had high hopes of that lad, was hoping we'd meet up with him even."

"It can't be helped" said H'llon, touching his new friend sympathetically on the arm. "He made his choice. You warned him; and offered him the chance to change."

"I'm surprised you didn't suggest the Weyr to that Lady Petrilla" said Voll. "I recall her working for Grissom shortly after the ring incident Jemus dragged up…..she was just a skinny bit of a kid then, and I thought at the time she was a boy."

"I daresay I shall in time" said H'llon "But right now she seems to be enjoying her independence….though there's no reason she shouldn't be independent and work for us, I guess. I'll ask the girls how best to tackle her, and maybe get them onto it" he grinned.

"The girls?"

"Our collective weyrwomen….we don't let anyone else treat them with disrespect, but to the weyr, they're 'the girls' even those past the first flush of girlhood!"

"Mmmm….but never to their faces, especially the one called Y'lara I dare swear."

H'llon laughed.

"You said it!" he pulled a face. "And I'd like to see if we can find Ottellie's parents….she's much an age with my kid sister. And she's bright; if we don't find them, I'd like to see her weyrbred. She deduces like a logicator!"

"Hey – wasn't it supposed to me who's the sentimentalist?" laughed Voll.

The logicators discussed Marksman's Carney's trick with the marks, Voll demonstrating how two identical bags could be switched using sleight of hand.

"But if he can make five mark pieces, why bother?" asked B'lova, mystified.

"He can't" said Voll, shortly. "They're all genuine ones he's collected as – as bait, like a worm for a fish. To make people THINK he can make them. It's a clever but nasty idea because it only catches people who are desperate enough to go with that dishonesty."

"Or the truly greedy" said T'lana dryly.

"True" shrugged Voll. "I was thinking about some poor cotholder, like Villim, say, who'd had a sick wife and a poor harvest….. I tried to make Villim and Gresille think their land was bad luck so's I could persuade them to take a fair price for it; and that was a trick too. But the difference is, I would have paid a fair price to them, because I'd have sold the cotholding after I'd dug up my hoard. Or there again, I might have settled and grown enough to subsist. But Carney only cheats."

"Indeed" said T'lana. "I'll put out word amongst all our friends about this creep; perhaps that will stop his game. You boys can work with Geri to produce a likeness of him to send out too. He's a trader; if he sticks by that, well, I never saw a thin marksman!" she added, to laughter from all the logicators!

In truth, T'lana was delighted in H'llon's find in Voll; a man with his own code of ethics that forbade him to steal except where it could be afforded!

Meanwhile, Dand was settling in well, delighted with the wooden leg H'lln had quickly carved for him; and H'llon had gone with M'gol to appeal to Lord Bargen on Shayam's behalf when it became apparent that dragons made him nervous.

M'gol put it well.

"We Impressed because we can cope with out fears and control them. You, sir, Hold because you coped with the fears of Fax's reign of terror and proved yourself the better man with your quiet defiance and raiding on his lands. Most people fear many things most of the time; and bullies are an immediate terrors. They roughed me up well – and I can take care of myself pretty well. To have the threat of that day in day out can sap a man's will."

With so impassioned a plea, Lord Bargen agreed to re-instate Shayam on condition that if there was any further cause to doubt him, even for a minor offence, he would be out on his ear.

Shayam wept with gratitude!


	19. Chapter 19

_Thanks Cissy! hope you continue to enjoy; plenty more books to come!_

**19 Out of the Box**

As well as Voll looking up old contacts to try to find Ottellie's family, the Mulgan family agreed to look as well. T'arla asked transport from L'gal to her kin's know haunts too: and found them awed, pleased for her, but not a little nervous to discover that she had Impressed a Green dragon and weyred with a mighty Bronze Rider!

T'arla also told her assorted uncles, aunties and cousins – firmly, for T'arla was, as her weyrmate remarked laconically, good at firm – that any orphans they came across, or youngsters wanting to get out of a Holdless existence, could be brought to High Reaches Weyr where those that brought them would receive payment for the keep of the said children during their peregrinations to the Weyr, and some over.

"And if you try to cheat me, or steal away children that don't want to come, I SHALL know" warned the girl. "You know I can read minds; it's why I was chosen by a dragon!"

In point of fact, T'arla could read emotions, not thoughts; but she had learned to make shrewd deductions to have convinced her kin she had the greater power! And if they had in some ways been secretly pleased when she took herself to the Weyr with her 'creepy' powers, T'arla thought there was enough genuine affection for her to make it a mixed emotion.

L'gal and T'arla also took the opportunity to Search whilst they were tracking down T'arla's kin; for Segrith was egg-heavy and bound to clutch someday soon, and few others would Search amongst the Holdless.

"And with the mixed bag of females that we already have" said T'arla "Nobody'd notice if we brought in a candidate with two heads."

The Logicators already had one candidate, young, Jarleth from Mile High Hold, as well as assorted Woodcraft and Harpercraft apprentices available, if rather young in some cases. And T'arla was sponsoring Siselly, from L'gal's old Hold, though the girl had come more in the spirit of avoiding forced marriage than in joy of dragons.

It happened that T'arla's immediate kin of aunties and uncles also met up with another branch of the Petlengro family, led by Poley, a cousin of T'arla's in some degree. They arrived while the dragonriders were still at the caverns and promptly made for their kindred.

His eyes widened at T'arla's knots.

"Little Tassarla? A dragonrider?" he gasped. "The family is honoured! But – Green? They let women stand for Greens like the legends say?"

"I'd like to hear your legends if I may, good tinker" said L'gal "For we have none such at the Harper Hall, and I'd like to extend our obviously missing knowledge."

"Of – of course, Harper, er, bronze Rider" said Poley.

L'gal laughed.

"'L'gal' does just fine, cousin!" he said, holding out his hand; and Poley grasped it gladly!

T'arla had regretted at first that Poley's eldest son had not been a few turns older; else she might have wed him instead of going to the Weyr. Now she was glad, for she had her wonderful Frith! But Poley was the most respectable side of the family with a strong moral code and respect for dragonkind – and that had been what had prompted her to try for Impression!

"If I may interrupt my Harper and his eternal search for new old stories" she said "I should remind you that I'm T'arla now, Uncle Poley, for we contract at High Reaches. Just a small change, but so important to me!" she corrected him gently. "And I'm an apprentice Harper now too, with responsible teaching duties and learning to make the best of my music and finding out that the prejudices my other uncles taught me are foolish childishness!"

Poley embraced her.

"You've done so well!" he said, warmly "And still not too grand for us, nor your friend – a real Lady!"

T'arla flushed.

"Wherryteeth" she disclaimed. "L'gal's my weyrmate, we practice a lot of monogamy at High Reaches too, he's my husband in effect" she smiled shyly at her lover and he took her hand. "Hence his greeting you as cousin."

Poley shook his head in wonder.

"I've always revered dragonfolk" he said "But it sure is easier with dragonfolk who are people too and don't look at you from atop their dragons even when they're on the ground."

"What a nice turn of phrase!" said L'gal. "May I steal it a little bit?"

Poley grinned.

"Feel free, sir – cousin I mean. Though I'd rather some dragonfolk didn't know from whom it originated!"

"Discreet as a Harper" said L'gal gravely, and was promptly poked by T'arla.

"Now tell us how's Chavul and the other brats?" demanded T'arla.

A shadow crossed Poley's face.

"So brave – I can't help admiring it; but it's ruined his life as a tinker!" he said, sadly.

"What?" asked T'arla.

"Thread – he took a Thread in his hand, at least it was his left hand! It came off a leaf, slithered into the scrape….he thrust his hand into the fire to burn it out – but it's left him with a useless claw, the fingers just stumps!"

"That's true bravery" said L'gal, looking at the youth who had emerged from behind the cart hearing his name. "Aye, I see, lad, no need to hide your hand, we're not afraid of seeing injuries at High Reaches."

The boy came forward.

"My Lord Bronze Rider, as my cousin has Impressed, may I come on Search? I – I can't say I'm not afraid of Thread, but I do dare to face it!"

"And the better man for admitting and overcoming a fear" approved L'gal. "We all fear it. And I see no reason you should not come; you're brave enough, first egg knows! And even if you don't Impress, you'll get a firelizard to train to help make up for the missing fingers; for you can direct the little creature to sit on your wrist and hold things for you, you know."

Chavul's eyes glowed.

"MAY I, father?" he begged.

Poley nodded.

"Your acceptance as candidate brings honour on the family" he said. "But only if you spend time with your mother before they are ready to take you!"

Chavul nodded eagerly. His mother was a quiet, sef effacing woman, nervous in front of dragonfolk; and she had drawn the younger ones back.

Poley asked,

"Benden Red to celebrate?"

L'gal grinned.

"Benden Red always goes well down a Harper's throat and wets it well to entertain his audience – I'd best not ask whether it fell of the back of a Vintner's cart though. Ours in the Weyr does, I swear – via those disreputable Mulgans!"

Poley laughed.

"It's quite legitimate, I'm afraid. I hope it will still taste as good for all that?"

"Certainly!" declared L'gal.

T'arla sighed, pointedly; and L'gal raised a glass to her and toasted her ostentatiously. The glasses may have been chipped; but he appreciated Poley's attempt to honour him with such rather than the mug he himself used. And then he got out his gitar and he and T'arla sang; and the other Holdless in the cavern crept closer to listen, eventually starting to join in the choruses of those songs they knew. L'gal slipped in the Duty song, and Poley and his family at least knew that word perfect.

"Have dragons made your voice better, er, T'arla?"asked a girl cousin a turn or so younger than the young Green Rider. "You do sound much better than before and you always was good."

"Oh, 'tisn't the dragons" said T'arla nonchalantly, looking straight at the girl's father, "It was having proper training as a Harper that freed my music to make it more spontaneous, for now I'm not bound by any constraints of lack of knowledge."

The uncle in question spluttered.

"Don't training hamper you then?" asked the girl, Meeri.

"No – the opposite" said T'arla. "Same as any craft; when you know the tricks, if you have the talent it makes it flow better. Y'can't weave proper without a loom and y'can't sing proper without the breath control. Stands to reason; only a stubborn idiot would deny that you can do a job properly without tools."

L'gal had to grin; it was a dig at herself for having been so stubborn a fool!

When the singing was over, Poley approached L'gal deferentially.

"Tell me, er, L'gal, is it true that High Reaches people solve mysteries?" he asked.

"We do our best!" said L'gal. "Why, what mystery do you have that needs the solving, cousin Poley?"

Poley fished out a small wooden box from his pouch.

"It were given me by a rich lassie when I'd been mending some pewter candlesticks. She said I could keep the box if the contents found a home with someone who could help her. Her mother was around most of the time, and it seemed like she was scared to talk in front of her Ma, for when the old besom turned up she shut up. And the box was empty."

L'gal brightened.

"Just the job for H'llon, our weyrwoodcrafter. If I may take this to him?"

"Please! It's driving me silly that I can't fathom out what to do – and that little girl seeming so scared!" said Poley.

T'arla told L'gal on the way back that she'd promised Meeri that they would slip in from time to time to teach her the basics of Harper notation.

"She'd love to go to the Harper Hall for a proper apprenticeship; I offered her the Weyr and our harperweyr, but she wants to go to the Harper Hall. I told her we could send her on more easily from the Weyr, and I left her thinking about that – we could easily get her on pretext of Search, couldn't we, and Uncle Chola couldn't gripe about that?"

"We certainly shall" said L'gal firmly. "And she can go when she's well prepared; unless she Impresses first."

T'arla shrugged.

"She could care less about dragons. I don't think she would Impress" she opined.

L'gal nodded.

"You're probably right" he said.

Back in the Weyr, it took H'llon less than two minutes to open the puzzle box. Chavul, permitted to stand to watch, whistled in amazement.

"That's so clever!" he said.

H'llon grinned.

"It's my trade, lad. I guess she figured that of all outsiders, tinkers had the best chance to figure it out – being good with their hands and clever – and if they did not, would know who to ask!"

"I – guess at that, my father did know who to ask, knowing it was beyond him!" said Chavul.

"Me too!" L'gal said cheerfully. "That's why we like disparate peoples in the logicators – to put together all sorts of useful disparate skills and knowledge!"

There was a tiny shred of satin ribbon in the box, written on, L'gal and H'llon both guessed, in blood. It read,

"HELP I am Lady Vivenya kidnapped by my aunt and uncle to marry horrid cousin!"

L'gal and H'llon looked at each other.

"Where was she?" L'gal asked Chavul, crisply.

"A Hold called Fair Pastures" he said.

"Ruatha" said L'gal.

"Well, I'll take your word for that" shrugged H'llon.

"C'mon lad" said L'gal to Chavul. "You saw her, didn't you?"

Chavul nodded.

"I had no speech with her. The old wher with her saw to that."

"And such you will tell Lord Warder Lytol" L'gal said. "He'll listen to two Bronze Riders, one a Harper….now we've a girl to rescue! Though Lord Jaxom's old enough to enjoy being part of that himself, I wager!"

The Lord Warder of Ruatha was glad to have had the matter brought to his attention. The girl Vivenya was a ward of another of her uncles, who had carved out a small Hold for himself; he had decided that her disappearance meant that she had run away, and had washed his hands of her! Once she had been collected, Lytol had every intention of seeing the child fostered with reasonable and careful foster parents, blood ties or no blood ties!

Although the disappointed High Reaches dragonmen were not invited to join the rescue, Lytol did send a drum message to report on the successful outcome for their edification. The aunt and uncle had been waiting for the girl's thirteenth birthday to wed her to their spoiled and loathsome son so they could get their hands on her not inconsiderable fortune. Lytol also wrote a longer letter of explanation sent via runner-messenger that he would see that Poley received financial recognition for his aid.

"Good" said L'gal. "And when she's older, perhaps we can touch the girl for a donation to our waifs and strays too."

T'arla snorted.

"Shameless as a Harper! And being the goldentongued Harper that you are, I swear you'll probably even get it" she added.

L'gal crossed his eyes and wiggled his tongue at her so she could see if it were golden or no.

T'arla took him firmly to her weyr!

It was a most satisfying sequel, to the logicators, that at hatching a little over two sevendays later, not only did Chavul Impress Bronze Kordath, but their other protégé Jarleth Impressed Blue Mnanth. Ch'vul and J'eth were overjoyed; and if some of the logicators were a trifle preoccupied by the drama surrounding the Impression of the Queen egg, with the spoiled Holderwench Lasolly trying to kill Z'ira before Tiabeth's eyes, there were at least enough logicators to congratulate the new young riders! And if one Old Timer was heard to mutter that 'half these wherry-headed youngsters be full o' that logicating lark, either harpers or woodcrafters the most o' them' then the logicators decided to take THAT as a compliment!


	20. Chapter 20

**20 The Fisherman's Tale**

The Mulgan family having been successful in finding young Ottillie's family, they took her parents to Highspire Hold to arrange a reunion. At H'llon's request they mentioned nothing about Weyr involvement to Petrilla for the moment, though H'llon had no objection to the child being told later that her deductions about him being a dragonman were quite correct! He knew that D're's uncle Morrity would wax enthusiastic about the folk of High Reaches Weyr later, kindly disposing Ottillie's parents when she was old enough to Search. Morrity had in fact taken a liking to Otello and Marlie, the little girl's parents, and had invited them to join his own train. That would give the little girl considerably more security and keep her within Weyr influence too!

Now H'llon had no excuse not to go and tell Petrilla the truth.

H'llon and Voll waited until Petrilla had moved on to High Reaches Sea Hold, where they could be more readily anonymous under the cover of several hundred itinerants. They found Petrilla easily enough; Voll had made them sufficiently superficially disreputable looking to be directed straight to her by others who used her services to shift stolen goods. H'llon looked around in horror at the mass of humanity crammed into the caves, the lucky ones in niches or small caves off passages or off the main cave; others living communally, men and women together with scarce enough elbow room to sleep. Rough necessaries had been provided, but were shared between upwards of two dozen people; and bathing rooms seemed non existent, judging by the apparent grime and the stench of human bodies.

"But there's fuel hauled and a fire all winter, and protection from Thread and the weather" said Voll, seeing the Bronze Rider's face "And there are Necessaries, not buckets in the open…."

H'llon shuddered.

"These people do really need our help" he growled "And time we built a Holdless shelter inside Weyr jurisdiction with better facilities than this!"

"You put it to T'bor" said Voll soothingly. At that, the young Rider probably would – and would almost certainly get his way!

Petrilla's face brightened when they entered the small cavern she had claimed as her own

"Hallon!" she said "And Voll! Good to see you!"

The two logicators ducked in through the tinkling curtain that masked off this little cave; it consisted of hollowed bamboo sticks and glass beads and a few sleigh and ovine bells strung on strings and it was impossible to pass through it without making some noise.

"Clever precaution, Lady Petrilla" said Voll.

Petrilla shrugged.

"A woman on her own needs warning of the approach of anyone" she said, tucking her little crossbow out of sight now she knew who had approached her. "Have you come to accept that job?"

H'llon looked uneasy.

"I – well, I didn't tell you all the truth" he said, uncomfortably "Though I didn't myself outright lie."

"No, he left that to me" grinned Voll "Because I don't blush when I lie the way he does!"

H'llon blushed furiously!

"And are you now planning to tell me the truth?" asked Petrilla.

H'llon nodded.

"When you presided over the shelter we discussed briefly the fact of the Weyr extending the dragonrider oath to protect to actively helping people" he said "And I can tell you that Dand was picked up by Mirrith and her Rider and now has a wooden leg. I carved it. It's not the first I've carved; Bronze Rider D're has one of mine too, among others."

She surveyed them warily.

"And yet Voll is vouched for as a known jewel thief - by the boy Jemus whom I know full well" she said.

Voll shrugged.

"I fell foul of the Weyr, and found things had changed since I was incarcerated; and I liked what I found. They thought me not incorrigible and gave me a second chance – in return for helping people like, well, young Ottillie. The Mulgans have Weyr connections, that Bronze Rider D're is Morrity's own nephew. And Dand too, and kids born to thievery that could do with a hand up and into a better life. It's too late for young Jemus" he said sadly.

"Hard as diamonds" murmured Petrilla. "He might just be protesting that to hide insecurity, you know."

Voll brightened.

"I can hope so" he said softly. "I'll try to get to see more of him, see if I can break through."

"And what does the weyr want of me?" asked Petrilla, looking at H'llon "And where do you really fit in, Hallon?"

H'llon grinned.

"I came to the Weyr as Weyrwoodcrafter and then I Impressed Melth" he looked soppy for a moment as he pulled up his overtunic to display his knots.

Petrilla's eyes widened.

"Bronze Rider! Ottillie was right then! She said afterwards to me that she though you walked like a man used to respect! An illustrious personage indeed to take an interest in the affairs of us scum!"

H'llon frowned.

"No!" he said. "There are doubtless scum amongst you; but to my mind, most Holdless are either those who like their independence – like you, I'm guessing – or those who are unlucky. Either in being in the wrong place at the wrong time, or from an overly harsh ruling by some Holder who has not thought through, or cares less about, the consequences of his decree. And I'd like to offer you the chance of Impression, if you'll take it: I'linne, who I guess is kin of yours, has, and Meliandra's considering it. Ipominea's too young yet."

She raised her eyebrows.

"You recognise my kinship? And there was I thinking I was the lucky and pretty one!"

H'llon frowned.

"All of those girls have lovely eyes and they're a lot prettier when they're not half starved of food and wholly starved of affection" he said stiffly. "I'll not listen to you abuse my fosterlings!"

That surprised her.

"My apologies, Bronze Rider" she said. "No offence was meant – merely a passing sympathy that they resemble our sire more than I do. I'm a bastard; not that my mother had any choice in the matter. And here I'm Queen of my cavern, not available as a drudge or a suitable pawn for marriage maintained on sufferance. And for the reason that I am what I am and I am what I choose, I will not come to the Weyr, for I relish my independence."

H'llon, mollified, nodded.

"I wondered if you would feel that way" he shrugged. "The offer will remain open indefinitely should you ever change your mind. And I certainly hope you'll feel like visiting your sisters and getting to know them properly. You could claim to trade to the Weyr where they're less likely to recognise distinctive stones, say."

She laughed.

"You've got that story all well worked out even if you can't lie on your own behalf. Was there anything else you wanted of me than to offer me a dragon and some sisters who might or might not acknowledge the relationship?"

"They would acknowledge it" said Voll "They're nice girls. They resented his more scheming and nasty mistresses, like the one I robbed blind, but they'd not resent one of his involuntary acquisitions, nor any sibling of any relationship if they weren't snooty at them. As for what more we want, that's plenty. Information; and we'd pay for that. Information about dangerous renegades that give the rest of the Holdless a bad name; knowledge about certain people we track – there was a trader killed a baby to keep him quiet for example, that the Weyr tracked down, that Hold wouldn't for the mother being a loving wench – tracing stones perhaps for friends of the Weyr, and we'd see a reward was offered: knowledge of what Lords and Holders need to be kept an eye on for not fulfilling their duty, knowledge of renegade dragonmen – all sorts! And then there's our orphan hold; if you'll take orphans under your wing to pass them on to us, we'd see you remunerated for your troubles!"

Petrilla looked thoughtful.

"You've certainly got your feet well under the Weyr table, Voll – 'we' and 'us' and 'our' being thrown about. I don't suppose you'd use the first person plural if you hadn't been made welcome. That gives me pause for thought about the Weyr; I've always been wary of it because of my dear caring father."

"Huh, a fig for the old bugger" said Voll.

"Seconded" said H'llon. "He's dead; and nothing to do with you really."

She nodded.

"As to expenses, unless there's a serious expense – a healer, say – having the odd extra pair of hands around pays for feeding quite adequately" she said. "I was half sorry to see Ottillie go, though glad for her; I got quite fond of her. I really don't see it would be a problem to bring in other orphans."

"It's the cripples who get abandoned who'll need more care" said H'llon "And the Weyr is quite ready to pay you a stipend as an orphan finder in the field, lest it break into your er, usual profits. Some WILL need more care, and there's no reason you shouldn't claim to sell them to the Weyr. Everyone reckons we're mad anyway. Some will be all right; Dand's pretty capable and old enough to make up his own mind. I'm thinking of kids like an apprentice of mine; she was just seven turns when she lost her foot in her father's saw mill, and he was happy to give her away to a trader – D're Mulgan as it happens, then Daire – to hide the evidence. She has a wooden foot." He was clenching both teeth and hand at the memory.

Petrilla nodded.

"And I guess I know that you are truly genuine in your care by that reaction" she said softly "Though I liked you before, and I'm rarely wrong. I'll e sorry not to have you as a bodyguard. What about you cutting stones for me, Voll?"

He grinned.

"If they come from those rich enough to lose them, I'll take my pay for my work as their contribution to the Weyr orphan fund!" he said.

Petrilla laughed.

"Then that's a deal too. Do you help adults too?" she looked at H'llon. He shrugged.

"If they let us" he said. "We got Shayam reinstated with Lord Bargen; and we stole Voll well enough."

She grinned.

"Stealing a thief? I like that. Come, follow me" she got up and went to the entrance curtain "A fellow I've been half looking out for, and him to sleep across my door in exchange, has no memory of who he is. And in the absence of knots to prove his identity they won't take him into the Hold proper."

H'llon growled something about 'foolishness'. It had a few less repeatable words in it.

"Not really" said Petrilla. "How can they know he's not dissembling? He could be a vicious renegade for all they know. And there's been enough of it to the East by all accounts, bold and violent raids and inside men to pass information first."

"Holderfolk don't have dragons at their beck and call to discern lies from truth" said Voll dryly. "You be too quick to judge 'em, H'llon."

H'llon flushed and shrugged.

"Anyone can wear any knots to get into places" he said "And if they can act the manner get away with it. It's no proof of person really. But I guess I'm used to people who can judge others even without dragons checking truth."

"Ar, and that's why you be Bronze Rider and all your friends Riders of some sort too" said Voll. "It's them fine instincts."

"And trained observation!" protested H'llon. "We logicators work hard to train all out senses to pick up false notes – as can anyone! For someone in power not to do so is sheer laziness!"

"Sheer stupidity more like" said Voll "And that's always issued in big barrels at birth, like the marks the more to the higher, present company excepted M'lady."

The man in whom Petrilla had taken an interest sat on a rock, dully contemplating the world through perplexed eyes.

"Friend fisherman, this man may be able to help you" said Petrilla, crisply.

H'llon studied the man with care.

"Beyond that you are at least a journeyman fishcrafter out of a small Hold on the Island of Ista, with caring kinfolk close to you but with a need to be careful with marks I can tell nothing about you" said H'llon gravely.

Petrilla and the fisherman stared; Voll, more used to the logicators, grinned.

"Well, good sir, I don't know that much about me, though 'Ista' do seem to ring a bell" said the fisherman.

"How did you see all that at a glance?" demanded Petrilla.

H'llon shrugged, blushing in embarrassment at her wonder.

"His gansie is faded but obviously orange in hue, Ista's colour, with the distinctive rows of numbweed-leaf pattern popular as a pattern on all garments from there. My friend from Ista has a gansie very similar" he added. "Though his knots have been torn off there's a shred of cords where they ripped still sewn for security to his gansie. There's a strand of turquoise for the fishcrafthall, and the other strand seems to have orange, white and brown. Orange and white designate Ista Hold itself, the addition of a third colour suggests a small Hold beholden to Ista. The number of rope calluses on his hands show a lot of hard work, as do the rub marks from ropes on the inside of the sleeves of his gansie. The sleeves look to have been turned once, and patched with leather; hence by his hard work he's at least a journeyman, for an apprentice his age would hide his knots and just wear Hold knots for shame. The repairs show a caring kinswoman but one that has to look at both sides of a mark twice."

"It's my favourite lucky gansie" said the fisherman suddenly "It's the last one my mother knit for me before she died" he looked surprised "So I know something about myself!"

"That's good" said H'llon. Anything that can jog your memory has to be good."

"They found him in a boat with the mast gone by the board and a welt on is temple" said Petrilla. "After the Healers were done with him he couldn't tell the Steward's men anything so they shuffled him down here."

"A welt on his head and the fools still didn't believe him?" said H'llon scornfully "I'll be having words with Nordar, Lord Bargen's steward, about that; the steward here is under him. Nordar's a good man and he'll not like to know that he's got idiot underlings!"

"O'course" said Voll "We could be seeing the likes of Shayam being overzealous account o' being afraid of people stealing again….if you complain official like you might get him Holdless again afore he's settled back. 'Tain't allus so easy, my friend."

H'llon sighed and his shoulders sagged.

"No. No, you're right, friend Voll. It isn't always easy. People seem to swing from one extreme to another; I wish everyone would just get on with their duty with the occasional use of what they have between the ears!"

Voll laughed.

"Trouble is, H'llon, you're expecting them to HAVE stuff between the ears; and living in Holds do tend to erode that for not having to think much!" he said.

The fisherman leaped to his feet hearing the honorific contraction, bowing quickly.

"H'llon? Me Lord, I didn't know you was a dragonman, I am sorry!"

"Fardles" said H'llon, waving him down. "I'm incognito, so, er, stow that, as I think you fisherfolk say. We've a Rider from Ista in the Weyr, my friend with the gansie; Petrilla, I think the best thing to do is to take this poor fellow back to the Weyr and see if my friends can't fathom out more about him."

Petrilla nodded.

"I'm also thinking he'd have a better time of it there than being made the butt of jibes here" she said.

H'lln started seething again, and Voll hastily took his arm.

"Underdogs pick on them even worse on their luck" he was explaining as he led both fisherman and young Bronze Rider away. "Those who are down get to feel less down by putting others further down."

"I know. I don't have to like it though" growled H'llon testily.

K'shon grinned at H'llon.

"And I suppose the one that got away was bigger?" he asked facetiously.

"Idiot" said H'llon, amiably to his wingsecond.

"Yup, that's me!" agreed K'shon cheerfully. "The brown in the knots is for Threestacks Hold, it's not that far from the Weyr at that."

"Aye, but there's only two stacks now, my Lord, has been from my father's childhood" said the fisherman. "Now that's come back to me. And your Weyr, My Lords, it's familiar but not."

"Yes, Ista Weyr has spiky bits not unlike the seven spindles of High Reaches" said K'shon. "And you can see it large as life and in your face from Threestacks. Will I take him home, H'llon, to see if that brings his memory back, or shall I get Guth to give visualisation to Melth?"

H'llon shrugged.

"No reason we shouldn't both go. You're dying to see the end of the story and I confess I'd feel left out if I sent you without coming, and I reckon Voll feels the same!"

K'shon nodded; and the fisherman found himself dragonback for the second time in a few hours, after having been liberally fed and checked over by Calla!

Dragons were not uncommon visitors to Threestacks Hold; it was a convenient cove for swimming and bathing dragons. The two sea stacks and the spray about the pile of stones that marked the passing of the third were a distinctive feature too, and used, K'shon said, for early trips _Between_ that practising weyrlings emerged within sight of the weyrlingmaster.

"We lost one for a while because he was imagining what it would be like with three stacks and the young idiot went _Between _ time and frightened the blazes out of the fisherfolk who'd never seen a dragon for there being only one Weyr at Benden!" laughed K'shon. "My how he was bawled out when he got back to his proper time!"

"I can imagine!" said H'llon. "Young fool, any loss o f concentration risks your dragon!"

The two dragonriders came in to land, where they attracted more attention than usual; dragons may have been common enough visitors, but Bronze dragons were never common anywhere, especially not those as big as Melth, who was fully the size of any Benden bred beast.

H'llon helped Voll down and K'shon performed the same office for their fisherman; and as he stood clear of the dragons a young woman detached herself from the crowd broiling spiderclaws on the beach to come tearing across the sand to throw herself on the amnesiac man's chest.

"Kershaw! Oh Kershaw, we'd quite given you up for dead!" she sobbed and laughed together.

"Your wife?" asked H'llon when she finally let him go. Somehow the signals did not seem quite right…

"No….my sister….my sister's name is Merrilly!" he exclaimed.

His sister gave him a sharp look.

"He's had a bump to the head" said H'llon, laconically. "He's been suffering memory loss….but if he recognises you, it'll come right back, our healer says."

Merrilly cupped her brother's face, examining it, tutting at his thinness, then turned to the riders.

"THANK you Bronze Rider, Brown Rider" she flashed a smile equally on both of them, and included Voll in it too. "Is there ANYthing I can do to thank you?"

Her look of open invitation was apparent even to H'llon; it was in genuine gratitude, but inviting nonetheless.

K'shon grinned his very white grin. His skin was less dark in contrast than it had been when he first joined the Weyr, though it had not been long; but his teeth still gleamed in his dark face.

"Alas my dear, in High Reaches Weyr, we're encouraged to be faithful to our weyrmates unless mating flights intervene" he said "And HIS weyrmate – Queenrider Z'ira – and MY weyrmate, Green Rider M'ielle, both own sharp little knives; so we're best to avoid being too friendly with other girls" he winked. "I like everything intact and in working order!"

His tone was joking enough; but the explanation robbed the gentle rebuff of any insult.

H'llon had merely cleared his throat loudly, blushing in embarrassment!

An older man had approached, wearing Master Fishcrafter knots.

"My Lords!" he said "I hope you'll stay and feast and drink with us as our thanks for returning my idiot great nephew to us?"

"Uncle Kerrin, that's not fair!" protested Merrilly "He is NOT an idiot!"

"Been gone two months and bashed his head in, ain't he?" said the Master. "Have to live that one down he will, rescued by dragons and all like any landsman!"

H'llon grinned. The older man was heaping vituperation on the hapless Kershaw and all the time wringing his hand and banging him on the back with pleasure for seeing him!

"There – there was a storm" said Kershaw. "I got blown well off my course…. I think I even touched shore on Southern at one point; at least I was able to refill my casks with water, and gather fruit. The ship fish guided me, but by then I was only jury rigged, so when I was hit by the second storm that came out of nowhere….well, I guess the spar fell and knocked me cold, for I remember nothing more until they threw me out of the Healer Hall in the Seahold and that pretty red head looked after me, saving me from being done over by thieves, then asking the Bronze Rider here to find out who I was" he pointed at H'llon.

"Shards man, you were lucky not to be caught in Threadfall if you've been wandering the seas a couple of months!" said K'shon.

"The shipfish guided me out of it" Kershaw shuddered at the memory. "I saw the leading edge go right past a few lengths away, and the sea seething with fish eating it…..i was getting ready to go overboard and hope to hold my breath, but the shipfish knew their stuff right enough. Then I felt the current take me, no idea where I was, but heading North; and I tried to get as much Easting as I could to my progress in the hopes of making land somewhere. Then as I say, there was this storm….and here I am, thanks to these clever dragonmen who worked out where I came from, just by looking at my gansie and s few shreds of where my knots were once!"

The dragonmen were made much of; and made very welcome!

Any returning sailor believed lost was always good cause for celebration and feasting, Mirrilly explained; and the visit of illustrious guests even more so!

H'llon had worried that so many problems had come from seaholds, and wondered if it were an inherent fault; but was pleased to see that THIS seahold was a cheery as Y'lara described her own to be; and the women were embarrassingly far from being downtrodden!

Scenes of joy like this were the kind of thing that made H'llon realise that the logicators were doing a really good job; and would still find meaning for the people even after the Pass was over!


End file.
